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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN LIBRARIS 



BOHN'S STANDARD LIBRARY 



RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY 

VOL. II, 



GEORGE BELL & SONS 

LONDON : YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN 
NEW YORK: 66 FIFTH AVENUE, AND 
BOMBAY: 53 ESPLANADE ROAD 
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON BELL & CO. 



RELIQUES 

OF 

INCIENT ENGLISH POETRY 



CONSISTING OF OLD HEROIC BALLADS. SONGS, AND OTHER 

PIECES OF OUR EARLIER POETS. TOGETHER 

WITH SOME OF LATER DATE 



BY 

THOMAS PERCY 

LORD BISHOP OP i^OMORB 



EDITED BY 

J. V. PRICHARD 

IN TWO VOLUMES 
VOL. IL 




LONDON 

GEORGE BELL AND SONS 

1900 



storage 

.?43 



[l?cprtn(6d /ro»i Stereotype plates.} 






CONTENTS OP VOLUME THE SECOND. 



BOOK THE SIXTH. 

EssAT on the Metre of Pierce Plowman's Visions 1 

1. The Complaint of Conscience 13 

2. Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance 17' 

3. The Wandering Jew . . ^ 21 

4. The Lye, by Sir Walter Raleigh y 26 

5. Verses (viz. two sonnets) by K. James !• 28 

6. K. John and the Abbot of Canterbury 30 

7. You meaner Beauties, by Sir H. WottoB 34 

8. The Old and Toung Courtier 35 

9. Sir John Suckling's Campaigne 38 

10. To Althea from Prison. By Col. Lovelace ...... 39 

11. The Downfall of Charing-Cross 41 

12. Loyalty Confined. By Sir Roger L'Estrange 43 

13. Verses by King Charles I. 45 

14. The Sale of Rebellious House-hold Stuff 48 

15. The Baffled Knight, or Lady's Policy 51 

16. Why so pale? By Sir John Suckling 56 

17. Old Tom of Bedlam. Mad song the first 57 

18. The Distracted Puritan. Mad Song the second . . » . . 59 

19. The Lunatic Lover. Mad Song the third 62 

20. The Lady Distracted with Love. Mad Song the fourth ... 64 

21. The Distracted Lover. Mad Song the fifth 65 

22. The Frantic Lady. Mad Song the sixth 67 

23. Lilli Burlero. By Lord Wharton 68 

24. The Braes of Yarrow. In imitation of the ancient Scots manner. 

ByW. HamUton 70 

25. Admiral Hosier's Ghost. By Mr. Glover 74 

26. Jemmy Dawson. By Mr. Shenstone • 77 

BOOK THE SEVENTH. 

EssAT on the Ancient Metrical Romances, Poems on King Arthur, 

&c 80 

1. The Boy and the Mantle 105 

2. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine ^ • • . • * 112 



VI OONTENTS. 

PAGI 

3. King Ryence's Challenge 121 

4. King Arthur's Death. A Fragment 124 

5. ITie Legend of King Arthur 130 

6. A Dyttie to Hey Downe 133 

7. Glasgerion 134 

8. Old Robin of Portingale 137 

9. Child Waters 141 

10. Phillida and Corydon. By Nich. Breton 147 

11. Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard 149 

12. Tha Ew-bughts Marion. A Scottish Song 153 

13. The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter 154 

14. The Shepherd's Address to his Muse. By N. Breton. . . . 157 

15. Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor 159 

16. Cupid and Campaspe. By John Lilye 161 

17. The Lady turned Serving-man 162 

18. GU [Child] Morrice. A Scottish Ballad 165 



BOOK THE EIGHTH. 

1. The Legend of Sir Guy 173 

2. Guy and Amarant. By Sam. Rowlands 178 

3. The Auld Good-Man. A Scottish Song 184 

4. Fair Margaret and Sweet William 186 

5. Barbara Allen's Cruelty 189 

6. Sweet William's Ghost. A Scottish Ballad 191 

7. Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allen. Ditto 193 

8. The BailifiTs Daughter of Islington 194 

9. The Willow Tree. A Pastoral Dialogue 196 

10. The Lady's Fall 197 

11. Waly, waly, Love be bonny. A Scottish Song 202 

12. The Wanton Wife of Bath 204 

13. The Bride's Burial 208 

14. Dulcina 212 

15. The Lady Isabella's Tragedy 213 

16. A Hue and Cry after Cupid. By Ben Jonson 216 

17. The King of France's Daughter 218 

18. The Sweet Neglect. By Ben Jonson 225 

19. The Children in the Wood 225 

20. A Lover of late was I 23( 

21. The King and the Miller of Mansfield 231 

22. The Shepherd's Resolution. By Geo. Wither 239 

23. Queen Dido, or the Wandering Prince of Troy 241 

24. The Witches' Song. By Ben Jonson 24f 

25. Robin Good-fellow 24 

26. The Fairy Queen 2/ 

27. The Fairies' Farewell. By Dr. Corbet 2 



OONTENTS, TU 
BOOK THE NINTH. 

rAGX 

1. The Birth of St. George 258 

2. St. George and the Dr&gon 266 

3. Love will find out the Way 274 

4. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. A Scottish Ballad .... 275 

5. Unfading Beauty. ByTho.Carew 279 

6. George Barnwell 279 

7. The Stedfast Shepherd. By George Wither 290 

8. The Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy .,•.... 292 

9. Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind. By Dryden ...... 296 

10. Constant Penelope 297 

11. To Lucasta, on going to the Wars. By Col. Lovelace . . . 300 

12. Valentine and Ursine 301 

13. The Dragon of Wantley 313 

14. St. George for England. The first Part 320 

15. St. George for England. The second Part. By J. Gnbb . . 324 

16. Margaret's Ghost. By David Mallet 337 

17. Lucy and Colin. By Thomas Tickell 340 

18. The Boy and the Mantle, reused, &c 342 

19. The ancient Fragment of the Marriaf^ of .Sir Gaw'UiM . . • 349 
Glaisary , . ... . • .... 357 
lada 361 



An ordinary SONQ or Ballai>» that is th6 delight of the common people, 
cannot fail to please all such readers as are not unqualified for the 
entertainment by their affectation or their ignorance ; and the reason 
is plain, because the same paintings of Nature which 'reconmiend it 
to the most ordinary reader, will appear beautiful to the most re* 
€aed. 

Addison, in Speotatob, Ko. 70. 



RELIQUES 

OF 

ANCIENT POETRY, &c 



BOOK VL 



C^ Cimqplaint of Cuttfctma. 

r SHALL begin this Sixth Book with an old allM;oric Satire: a manner 
ot Tioralizing, which, if it was not fixst ihtrodnoed b)r the author o^ 
Pierce Plouman*$ VUwm, ^as at least chieflj brought into repute bj 
that ancient satirist It is not so generallj known that the kind of 
verse used in this ballad hath any affinity with the peculiar metre of 
that writer, for which reason I shall throw together some cursory remarks 
on that very sinralar species of versification, the nature of which has 
been so little understood. 

ON THE ALLrrEBATITB MBTBB, WITHOTIT BHTHSi 
III FIEBCI vumuj^B TmOHS. 

We learn from Wormius,* that the ancient Islandic poets used a 
great variety of measures : he m^ationtf 136 different kinds, without 
including rhyme, or a oonrespondenoe of final syllables : yet this was 
ooeasiooally used, as appears from the Ode of MgH, which Wormius 
hath inserted in his booK. 

He hath analyzed the structure of one of these kinds of verse, the 
harmony of which neither depended on the quantity of the syllables, 
like that of the andent Greeks and Bomana, nor on the rhvmes at the 
•nd, as in modem poetry, but ocmsiated altogether in alliteration, or 
a certain artfiil repetition of the sounds in the middle of the verses. 
Thu was adjusted according to certain rales of their prosody, one of 

* Literatura Bunica. Hafbic, 1636, 4to.— 1651, fol The Islandic 
language is of the same origin as our Anglo-Saxon, being both dialects of 
the andent Gothic or Teutonic— Vide HickesU Pnefiiit. in Ghranunai Anglo- 
.^azon, and Mttio-Goth. 4to^ 168i». 

▼at, n. — - B ' 



^- 



2 OH ALLITKBATIVS ICSTBS. 

which was that every distich should contain at least three words 
beginning with the same letter or sound. Two of these correspondent 
sounds might be placed either in the first or second line of the distioh. 
and one in the other ; but all three were not regularly to be crowded 
into one line. This will be beainndeistood by the following examples, * 

** Jfeire og ifiDne << Oah (7inunga 

Jfogu heimdaller." £nn 0ns haerge." 

There were many other little niceties observed by the Islandic poets 
who, as they retained their origiual language and peculiarities longer 
tiian the other nations of Oothle race, had time to cultivate their natiye 
poetry more, and to carry it to a higher pitch of refinement, than any 
of the rest. 

Their brethren, the Anglo-Saxon poets, occasionally used the same 
kind of alliteration, and it is common to meet in their writings with 
similar examples of the foregoing roles. Take an instance or two in 
modem characters:* 

<' Skeop tha and iS%yreds ** Earn and JSeahsetl 

iStyppend ore." i/eofena rikes." 

I know not, however, that there is anywhere extant an entire Saxon 
poem all in this measure. But distichs of this sort perpetually occur 
in all their poems of any length. 

Now, if we examine the versification of Pierce Plourman's Vieione, we' 
shall find it constructed exactly by these rules ; and therefore each line, 
as printed, is in reality a distich of two verses, and will, I belieye, be 
found distinguished as such, by scnne mark or other in all the ancient 
MSS., viz. 

** In a iSbmer /Season, | when ' hot ' * was the iS^unne, 
I /S%ope me into /SAronbs. | as I a She^ were ; 
I i^Etbite as an JTarmet f unZToly of werkes, 
Went Wjde m thys world [ Wbnders to heai-e," &c. 

So that the author of this poem will not be found to have invented any 
new mode of versification, as some have supposed, but only to have 
retained that of the Old Saxon and Gothic poets, which was probably 
never wholly laid aside, but occasionally used at different intervals : 
though the ravages of time will not suffer us now to produce a reg^idar 
series of poems entirely written ui it. 

There ave some readers whom it may gratify to mention, that these 
Visions of Pieree [i. e. Peter] the Plo%oman^ are attributed to Bobert 
Langland, a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury in Shropshiie, 
and Fellow of Oriel College in Oxford, who fiourished in the reigns of 
Edward III. and Richard II., and published his poem a few years after 

* Vide Hickes, Antia. literatur. Septentrional, torn. i. p. 217. 
•Ibid. 

« So I woald read with Mr. W«rtoQ, rather than either * soft,' as in MS. 
er * set,' as in p.oc. 



oil ALLiTBBATIVE HBTBS.- 8 

IBdO. It consists of xx Passus or Breaks,* exhibiting a seines dTvisioDSi 
which he pretends happened to hira on Malvern Hills in Worcestershire. 
The author excels in strong allegoric painting, and has with great 
humour, spirit, and fancy, censured most of the yices incident, to the 
several professions of life ; but he particularly inveighs against the 
corruption of the clergy, and the absurdities of superstition. Of this 
work I have now before me four different editions in olaok-letter quarto. 
Three of them are printed in 1550 h^ Hohcrt CtOlOles ll&lienfns ttl 
i^l^t rtntti in ^oVbnxnt, It is remar^ble ihsX two of these ai e 
mentioned in the title-page as both of the second impressioii, thou^Ii 
they contain evident variations in every page.* The other is said> 
to be mbiiyi ittmxvnttH aUtx i^t Kutl^xi oQie ta^n • • • ifi dloen 
iUl|in% Feb. 21, 1561. 

As Langland was not the first, so neither was he the last that 
used this allitierative species of versification. To Rogers' edition of th .'. 
Visums is subjoined a poem^ which was probably writ in imitatiou 
of them, entitled Pierce the Plowman*9 Grids, It begins thus : 

<^ (Tros, and Curteis (Thrist, this beginning spede 
For the Naders /Vendshipe, that J'\)armed heaven, 
And through the /Sj^ecial /Spirit, tiiat i^rong of hem tweyne, 
And al in one godhed endles dw^leth. 

The author feigns himself ignorant of his Greedy to be iDsimcted in 
which he applies to the four religious orders; viz. the gray friers of St. 
Francis, the black friers of St. Dominic, the Oarmelit^ or white friers/ 
«nd the Augustines. This affords him occasion to describe, in very 
lively colours, the sloth, ignorance, and immorality of those reverend- 
drones. At length he meets with Pierce, a poor ploughman, who 
resolves his doubts, and instructs him in the principles of true religion. 
The author was evidently a follower of Wicclif^ whom he mentions 
(with honour) as no longer living.' Now that reformer died in 1384. 
How long after his death this poem was written, does not appear. 
• In the Cotton Library is a volume of ancient English poems,* two ol 
which are written in this alliterative metre, and have tne division of 
the lines into distiohs distinctly marked by a point, as is usual in old 
poetical MSB. That which stands first of the two (though perhaps the 
iBitoOt written) is entitled ITie 8ege €/ 1 Erkm [t. e, Jemsalem^ being 

* The poem properly contains xxi parts : the word PasguSy adopted by 
the author, seems only to denote the break or division between two parts, 
though by the ignorance of the printer applied to the parts themselves. 
—See voL ii. book viL preface to ballad iii., where Pastue seems to signify 
Pcmae. 

* That which seems the first of the two, is thus distingai^bed in the title- 
page, tute i^t iittwcCtit tSitat tmprCttt^ii; 3&oba:te CraSnlfie : the 
otiiv- thus^turtDf tf^ itecatitt timt im^xinttn %tsi %tAttt CrotDlei;. 

In the former, the folios are thus erroneously numbered, 39, 39, 41, 63^ 
43, 42, 45, &c The booksellers of those day's were not ostentatious o| 
jnaltiplying editions. 

' Signature C iju CalignU A. ij. fol. 109^ VL%^ 



ft OH ALLITXBATITl XITBB. 

an old fitbalouB legend oompoeed by some monk, and ptafled wiik 
mAirelloiis figments concerning the destruction of the holy eity mod 
temple. II begins thus : 

** In Tyberins Tyme . the TVewo emperoor 
Sjr SeatLT hymself . beiSted in Rome 
Whyll Pylat was Proroste . under that Prynce rycho 
And yewes yostice also . of Jndeas londe 
ZTerode under empere . as J7erytage wolde 
JTyng," &c 

the other is entitled Chevalere Anigne [or De Gigne], that is, ** Tlia 
Knight of the Swan," being an ancient romance, beginning thus : 

«<A11-T7eldpge Ood . Tfhene it is his Wylle 
IVele he Vereth his TTerke . With his owene honde 
For ofte JSarmes were ^ente . that iTelpe wene mjzte 
Nere the J^znes of Hjm . that lengeth in ifevene 
For this," &c. 

Among Mr. Garrick's GoUeotion of old Plays* is a prose namtiye of 
the adventures of this same Knight of tlie Swan, '' newly translated 
ont of Frenshe into Englyshe, at tliinstigacion of the puyssaunt and 
illustryons prynce, lorde Edward duke of BuckTnghame.'^ This lord, 
it seems, had a peculiar interest in the book, for in the preface the- 
translator tells ns, that this " higbe dygne and illnstryous prynoe my 
lorde Edwarde by the grace of god Duke of Buckyngham, erle of Uere- 
forde, Stafforde, and Northampton, desyrage cotydyaUy to encrease and 
augment the name and fame of such as were relucent in vertuons 
feates and triumphaunt actes of chyvalry, and to encourage and styre 
every lusty and gentell herte by the ezempljrficacyon of the same^ 
ha\7ng a goodli booke of the highe and miraculous histori of a famous 
and puyssaunt kynge, named Oryant, sometime reynynge in the partiet 
of beyonde the sea, havynge to his wife a noble lady ; of whome she 
coiioeyved size sonnes and a daughter, and chylded of them at one 
only time ; at whose byrthe echone of them had a chayne of sylver at 
their neckes, the whiohe were all toumed by the provydence of god 
into whyte swannes, save one, of the whiche this present hystory is 
oompyled, named Helyas, the knight of the swanne, of whom liniaUy 
ii dyscended my tayde lorde. The whiohe ententifly to have the sayde 
hystory more amply and unjrversally knowen in thys hys natif 
90untrie,a8 it \a in other, hath of hys hie bountiebysomeof his faithful 
and trusti servauntes cohorted mi mayster Wynkin de Worde * to put 
the paid vertuons hystori in prynte ... at whose ins^igaoion and 
stiring I (Boberte Copland) have me applied, moiening the helpe of 
g^, to reduce and translate it into our maternal and vulgare eni^Oah 
tonge after the capacity and rudenesse of my weke entendement.'' 

• K. vol. X. 

« W. de Worde's edit, is in 1512— See Ames, p. ^2. Mr. G/s copy is- 

*'\ ixw^xixCM at EatOian in mt Qacniam Co^UtOi;' 



ON ALLirBBATIVB METB1B. 5 

-i—A cnrioiis picture of the times 1 While in Italy literature and the 
flne arts were ready to burst forth with classioul splendour under 
Lea X., the first peer of this realm was proud to derive his pedigree 
firom a fiabulous knight of the swan. ' 

To return to the metre of Pierce Plowman. In the folio MS. so often 
quoted in these volumes are two poems written in that species of ver- 
sification. One of these is an ancient allegorical poem entitled DetWh 
and Life <in two fitts or parts, containing 458 distichs), which, for 
aught that appears, may have been written as early, if not before, the 
time of Langland. The first forty lines are broke, as they should be, 
into distichs, a distinction that is neglected in the remaining part of 
the tianscript, in order, I suppose, to save room. It boKins^ 

«* Christ C/iHsten king, 

that on the Oosse tholed ; 
Hadd Paines and Possyons 

to defend onr sonles ; 
(7ive us (?race on the QrovaiA 

the ^reatlye to serve. 
For that £oyall ReA blood 
that ^ann from thy side.** 

The subject of this piece is a vision, wherein the poet sees a contest for 
superiority between ** our lady Dame Life " and the ^ ugly fiend Dame 
Death;" who, with their several attributes and concomitants, are 
personified in a fine vein of allegoric painting. Part of the description 
of Dame Life is, ' 

" Shee was -Brighter of her Plee, 
then was the bright sonn : 
Her i^ndd i^edder then the /^ose, 

that on the ^ise hangeth : 
Jfeekely smiling with her ifouth, 

and Jferry in her lookes ; 
Ever Xanghing for Zove, 

as she 2ike would. 
And as shee came by the ^ankes, 

the Poughes eche one 
They Xowted to that Xadye, 

and Xayd forth their branches ; 
^lossomes and ^urgens 
^eathed full sweete ; 
i^owers wFlourished in the jFVith, 

where shee ibrth stepped ; 
And the (rrasse, that was ^ray, 
O'reened belive." 

DiATR is afterwards sketched out with a no less bold and original 
penciL 

^ He is said in the story-book to be the grandfather of Godfrey of 
Boulogne, through whom I suppose the duke made out his relation to him. 
Th'« duke was beheaded May 17, 1521, 13 Henrv VIll. 



6 OK ALLITKRATXYl MXTBS. 

The other poem is that which is quoted in page 266 of toL i, and 
which was probably the last that was ever written in this kind of 
metre in its original simplicity, nnaocompanied with rhyme. It dumldf 
have been observed above, in page 266, that in this poem the lines •!•' 
throughout divided into distiobs. thus : 

** G^rant (Tracioos Ood, 

Grant me this time/' &c. 

It if entitled SwUuh Fielde (in 2 fittb, 420 distichsX oontaining a Tery 
circumstantial narrative of the battle of Flodden, fought Sept 9, 1518 : 
at which the author seems to have been present, from his speaking in 
the first person plural : 

<<Then WE Tlld downe OfOB Tents, 
that Told were a thousand." 

In the conclusion of the poem he gives this account of himself r 

*^ He was a (Tentleman by /esu, 

that this Oest * made : 
Which Saj bat as he SAjd * 

for iSooth and noe other. 
At Pagily that ^eame 

his hiding place had ; 
And his ancestors of old time 

have yearded * theire longe, 
Before William Conqneronr 

this Cantry did inhabitt. 
Jesus .^ng * them ' ' to Plisse, 

that brought us forth of bale, 
That hath J7earkned me ffe&re 

or JSeard my TALE." 

The village of Bagily or Bagoleigh is in Cheshire, and had belonged 
to the ancient familv of Legh for two centuries before the battle of 
Flodden. Indeed, that the author was of that country, appears from 
other passages in the body of the poem, particularly from the pains he 
takes to wipe off a stain from the Gbeshiremen, who, it seems, ran 
away in that battle ; and from his encomiums on the Stanleys, Earls 
of Derby, who usually headed that county. He laments the death of 
James Stanley, Bishop of Ely, as what had recently happened when 

» Jest. MS. 

* Probably corrupted for — " Says but as he Saw.** 

* Yearded, *'. e. buried^ earthed, earded. It is common to pronounce 
'* earth," in some parts of England, '* yearth," particularly in the North. — 
Pitscottie, speakmg of James III., slain at Bannockbnrn, says, " Nae mas 
wot whar they yeardid him." 

* * us.' MS. In tl e second line above, the MS. has ' bidding.' 



ON AMJTBRATIYS M1BTBI. 7 

this poem was written ; which teryda to asoertftin itft date^ for that 
prelate died March 22. 1514 -5. 

Thus have we traoea the Alliterative Measure so low as the sixteenth 
century It is remarkable, that all such poets as tised this kind of 
metre, retained along with it many peculiar Saxon idioms, particularly 
such as were appropriated to poetry : this deserves the attention of 
those who are desirous to recover the laws of the ancient Sioon Foesy, 
usually given up as inexplicable : I am of opinion that they wiU fixid 
what they seek in the metre of Pierce PloumanJ 

About the beginning of the sixteenth century, this kind of versliloa- 
tion began to change its form : the author of SeotiUh FiM, we ^de, 
concludes bis poem with a couplet in rhyme: this was an innovation 
that did but prepare the way for the general admission of that more 
modish ornament : till at length the old uncouth verse of the ancient 
writers would no longer go down without it. Yet when rhyme began 
to be superadded, all the niceties of alliteration were nt first retained 
along with it, and tbe song of LitUe John Nobody exhibits this union 
very clearly. By degrees, the correspondence of final sounds engiossing 
the whole attention of the poet, and fully satisfying the reader, the 
iuternal embellishment of alliteration was no longer studied, and thus 
was this kind of metre at length swallowed up and lost in our common 
Burlesque Alexandrine, or Anapestio vetseu* now never used bat ih 
ballads and pieces of light humour, as in the following song, of Con* 
9cienee, and in that well-known doggrel, 

" A cobler there was, and he lived in a stall." 

But although this kind of measure hath with us been thus degraded, 
it still retains among the French its ancient dignity; their grand 

' And in that of Robert of Gloucester. — See the next note. 

* Consisting of four anapests (*" "^ ~) in which the accent rests upon every 
third syllable. This kind of verse, which I also call the bnrlesqne Alex- 
avdrine (to distinguish it Arora the other Alexandrines of eleven and 
fourteen syllables, the parents of our lyric measure : see examples, vol. i., 
p. 345, &c.) was early applied by Robert of Gloucester to serious subjects. 
That writer's metre, like this of Langland's, is formed on the Saxon models 
(each verse of his containing a Saxon distich) ; only instead of the internal 
alliterations adopted by Langland, he rather <!hose final rhymes, as the 
t^rench poets have done since. Take a specimen : 

** The Saxons tho in ther power, tho thii were so rive, 
Seve kingdoms made in £ngelonde, and sutlie but viv,e : 
The king of Northomberlond, and of Eastangle also. 
Of Kent, and of WesUex, and of the March, therto." 

Robert of Gloucester wrote in the western dialect, and his language difibn 
exceedingly ft-om that of other contemporary writers, who resided in the 
metropolis, or in the midland counties. Had the Heptarchy continued, our 
English language would probably have been as much distinguished for its 
different dialects as the Greek ; or at least as that of the several indspsn^tBt 
ktates of Italy 



o m ALUCTBATIVl HKTRB. 

heroic Tene of twelve trllableB* Ib tiie ■ome geiiiiine off^nriiig of (be 
old alliterative metre of the ancient Gothic und Franeic poets, stripl 
like our Anapei«tic of its alliteration, and ornamented vrith rhyme; 
but with this difference, that whereas this kind of verse hath been 
applied by us only to light and trivia] subjects, to which, by its quick 
and lively measure, it seemed best adapted, our noets have let it 
remain in a more lax unconfined state.* as a greater degree of severity 
and strictness would have been inconsistent wiih the light and airy 
subjects to which they have applied it On the other hand, the French 
having retained this verse as the vehicle of their epic and tragic 
flights, in order to g^ve it a stateliness and dignity, were obli^;ed to 
confine it to more exact laws of scanriou ; they have therefore limited 
it to the number of twelve syllables, and by making the csBsura or 
pause as fidl and distinct as possible, and by other severe restrictions, 
nave given it all the solemnity of which it was capable. The harmony 
of both, however, depends so much on the same flow of ctadence and 
disposal of the paui^e, that tliey appear plainly to be of the f^ame 
original ; and every French heroic verse evidently consists of the ancient 
distich of their Franeic ancestors : which, bv the way, will account to 
us why this verse of the French so naturally resolves itself into two 
complete hemistichs. And, indeed, by making the cmsura or pause 
always to rest on the last syllable of a word, and by makine a kmd of 
pause in the sense, the French poets do in effect reduce Uieir hemi- 
stichs to two distinct and independent venues; and some of their old 
poets have gone so fiur as to make the two hemistichs rhyme to each 
other,' 

' Or of thirteen syllables, in what they call a feminine verse. It is 
remarkable that the French alone have retained this old Gothic metre for 
their serious poems ; while the English, Spaniards, &c., have adopted the 
Italic verse of ten syllables, although the Spaniards, as well as we, anciently 
used a short-lined metre. I believe the success with which Petrarch, and 
perhaps one or two others, first used the heroic verse of ten syllables in 
Italian poesv, recommended it to the Spanish writers ; as it also did to our 
Chaucer, who first attempted it in English ; and to his successors Lord 
Surrey, Sir Thomas Wyat, &c. ; who afterwards improved it and brought 
it to perfection. To Lord Surrey we also owe the first introduetu>n of 
blank verse in his versions of the second and fburth books of the .ineid, 
1557, 4to. 

* Thus our poets use this verse indifferently with twelve, eleven, and 
even ten syllables. For though regularly it consists of four anapests 
C " ') or twelve syllables, yet they frequently retrench a syllable from 
the first or third anapest, and sometimes from both ; as in these iastanees 
from Prior, and ftrom the following song of Conscience ; 

*' Wh5 hfts e6r befin &t P&rls, miist needs kn5w the GrSve, 
The fiiXi rStrdat 5f th' tinfdrtiin&te brftve. 
H6 stept t5 him straight, ftnd did him require." 

* See instances in UHist, de la Po^sie Frar.f iscy par Massieu, &c. It 
the same book are also specimens of alliterative French verses. 



0!H ALLITSSATIVE MBTBI. 9 

After all, the old alliterative and anapeetic metre of the Engliah 
poetB, being oliiefly used in a barbarous age and in a mde unpolished 
language, abounds with verses defective in length, proportion, and 
harmony, and therefre cannot enter into a comparison with the correct 
versification of the best modem French writers ; but making allow < 
ances for these defects, that sort of metre runs with a cadence so exactly 
resembling the French heroic Alexandrine, that I believe no peculi- 
arities of their versification can be produced which cannot be exactly 
matched in the alliterative metre. I shall g^ve, by way of example, 
a few lines from the modem French poets, accommodated with parallels 
from the ancient poem of lAfe and Death ; in these I shall denote the 
ccesura or pause by a perpendicular line, and the cadence by the marki 
of the Latm quantity. 

Li sUcces fUt toUjours \ Un infant di VSudaoe ; 
All shfiU drye with the dints J thit I deal with my hinds. 

VMmmi prudgnt vdit trop \ ViUwlUfn li suit, 

TondSr d&msSl Is death | th&t drfissdth hSr t5 smite. 

L'intripidi vdit mieux \ it li faniame fuit,* 

WhSn shS dolefully saw | h5w shS dftng dfiwne Idr ftlke. 

Mime (xUx yeux di l*injuste \ Un tnjuste itt MrribH^ 
ThSn shS o&st up ft crye | t5 th6 higrh king of hfiarin. 

JDU minsongi to&jours \ li vrdi dimiuri maitri, 
Th5a shiilt bittSrlye bye | 5r else th6 b6okS ftiUth. 

PoUr pdroiire konnite homme \ in fin motj tlfiut VHre,* 
Thus I fl&red thrOughe ft frythe I where the flewCrs wire 

I mftnj^e. 

To conclude : the metre of Fierce Ploumum*B Visiom has no kind of 
a£Snity with what is commonly called blank verse ; yet has it a sort of 
harmony of its own, proceeding not so much from its alliteration, as 
from the artful disposal of its cadence and the contrivarcn of its pause ; 
■o that when the ear is a little accustomed to it it is by ro means un- 
pleasing, but claims till the merit of the French heroic numbers, only 
fax leos polished ; being sweetened, instead of their final rhymes, with 
the internal recurrence of similar sounds. 

This Essay will receive illustration from another specimen in Warton's 
History of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 309, being the fragment of a MS. 
poem on the subject of Alexander the Great, in the I^dleian Library 
which he supposes to be the same with number 44, in the Adunol. 
US., containing 27 passus, and beginning thus : 

« Whensr folk fastid [feasted, ^.] and fed, 

fayne wolde thei her [i. e. hear^ 
Some tirand thing," &c 



» Gataliaa, A. 3. • BoUean, Sal. •Boii,Sal.lL 



10 ON ALUTEBATIYE METRl. 

It is wall obeenred by Mr. Tyrwhitt, on Chauoer's sneer lit thii okj 
alliterative metre (vol. iii p. 305), viz. 



I am a Sotherne [i. e. SotUhern] man, 



I camiot geste, rom, ram, raf, by my letter," 

that the fondnefls for this species of versiflcation, &c., was retained 
longest in the Northern provinoes : and that the author of Pierce Plow- 
man's Vieione is, in the best MSS., oalled William, without any surname 
— See vol. iv. p. 74. 

iDDinOHS TO TBI ESSAY OIT THB ALLITERATTYS MBTBB. 

Since the foregoing Essay was first printed the Editor hath me< 
with some additional examples of the old alliteratiye metre. 
The first is in MS.,* which begins thus : 

** Crist Crowned iTyng, that on Cros didest,' 
And art Comfort of all Care, thow * kind go out of Conrs, 
With thi ^alwes in HeYen ^eried mote thn be, 
And thy Worshipful Werkes Worshiped evre, 
That suche Soudrj SUgaea iSfhewest unto man, 
In ^emyng, in i/recchyng,* and in Derke swevenes." 

The author, from this proemium, takes occasion to give an account 
of a dream that happened to himself; which he introduces with the 
following circumstances : 

" Cues y me Crdayned, as y have Cfte doon. 
With ^rendes, and Felawes, jPVendemen, and other ; 
And C&ught me in a Company on Corpus Christi even, 
iSix, other * /Steven myle, oute of iSbuthampton, 
To take ifelodye, and JbPirthes, among my ifakes ; 
With i?edyng of R OMA UNCES, and i^evelyng among, 
The Djm of the I^erknesse />rewe me into the west ; 
And be69^n for to spryng in the ^rey day. 
Than Zift y up my Xjddes, and Xoked in the sky, 
And JTnewe by the JTende Conrs, hit clered in the est : 
^lyve y tasked me down, and to Ped went, 
For to Cumforte my iTynde, and Ceicche a slepe." 

He then describes his dream : 

** Methought that y iToved on ^gh on an H\\\, 
And loked />oun on a Z>ale 2>epest of othre ; 
Ther y iSiawe in my 5ighte a iSelcouthe peple ; 



* Id a small 4tQ M3. oonta ning 38 leaves, in private hands. 

* Didst dye. • Though. 

* Being overpowered. * i. e. either, or. 



OH ALLXTEBATIVE MZTBZ. H' 

The Jfnltitnde was so Jfoche, it Jfighte not be BoinbMd. 
Methonghte j herd a (Trowned JTjng, of his Cbmunss axe 
A iSbleyne ' /S^bsidie, to SxaUjmd )Sa werras. 

* • • • • 

With that a Clerk iTneled adowne and CSM*ped these wordes, 

Xiege Xord, yif it you Zike to Xisten a while, 
iS^om iSawes of /Salomon 7 shall you iShewe /Sone." 

The writer then gives a solemn lecture to kings on the art of -govern- 
ing. From the demand of subsidies '* to susteyne his werres^*' I am 
inclined to believe this poem wad composed iu the reign of King 
Henry Y., as the MS. appears from a sutMsequent entry to have been 
written before the 9th of Henry VI. The whole poem contains but 
146 lines. 

The Alliterative Metre was no less popular among the old Scottish 
poetd, than with their brethren on this side the Tweed. Id Maitland*s 
Collection of ancient Scottish Poems, MS. in the Pepysian Library, is 
a very long poem in this species of versification, thus inscribed : 

*' Heir begins the Tretis of the Twa Marriit Wemen and the Wedo, ccmpyjit 
be Maister William Dunbar.* 

<< Upon the Jf idsummer ewen iflrriest of nichtis 
I Jfuvit furth alane quhen as ifidnight was past 
Besyd ane (rudlie 6^ene (rarth,* full of (Tay flouris 
^egeit * of ane ^uge JTicht with Hawthorne treeis 
Quairon ane ^ird on ane ^ransche so ^irst out hir notis 
That nevir ane ^ly thfuUer ^ird was on the ^euche ' hard," &c. 

The author pretends to overhear threo gossips sitting in an arbour 
and revealing all their secret methods of alluring and governing the 
other sex: it is a severe and humorous satire on bad women, and 
nothing inferior to Chaucer's Prolo^e to his Wife of Baih'§ Tale. As 
Dunbar lived till about the middle of the sixteenth century, this poem 
was probably composed after Scottish Field (described above in p. 6), 
which is the latest specimen I have met with written in England. 
This poem contains about 500 lines. 

But the current use of the Alliterative Metre in Scotland appears 
more pjarticularly from those popular vulgar prophecies which are 
still printed for the use of the loMcr people in Scotland, under the 
names of Thomas the Bymer, Marvellous Merliug, &c This collection 



» Solemn. 

* Since the above was written, this poem hath been printed in ** Ancient 
Scottish Poems, &c., from the MS. Collection of Sir R. Maitland, of 
Lethington, knight, of London, 1786," 2 vols. 12mo. The two iirst liad 
are here corrected by that edition. 

« Garden. * Hedged. • Bough. 



14 TBI ooliPiiAiiiT ov ooNBonniai. 

Tho poore wold doe nothing withont connoell mine ; 

I ruled the world with the right line ; 
For nothing was passed betweene foe and friend/ 
Bat Oonscienoe was called to bee at < the * end. 85 

*^ Noe bargainee nor merchandize merchants wold make, 

Bat I was called a wittenesse therto ; 

Noe ase for noe money, nor forfett wold take, 

But I wold controole them if that they did soe ; 

' And ' that makes me live now in great woe, 40 

For then came in Pride, Sathan's disciple, 
That is now entertained with all kind of people ; 

''He broaght with him thifee, whose names,' thus they 

That Ls Govetoasnes, Lecherye,n8ary, beside; 

They never prevail'd till they had wroaght my downe-fall 

Soe Pride was entertained, but Conscience decried. 46 

And ' now ever since ' abroad have I tryed 

To have had entertainment with some one or other, 
Bat I am rejected and scorned of my brother. 

" Then went I to the Court, the gallants to winn, 50 

But the porter kept me out of the gate. 

To Bartlemew Spittle, to pray for my sinne. 

They bade me goe packe ; it was fitt for my state ; 

' Goe, goe, threed-bare Conscience, and seeke thee a mate ! ' 
GUkmI Lord, long preserve my king, prince, and queene. 
With whom evermore I esteemed have been I 56 

" Then went I to London, where once I did ' dwell,' 
But they bade away with me when they knew my name ; 
' For he will undoe us to bye and to sell I ' 
They bade me goe pack me, and hye me for shame, 60 
They lought at my raggs, and there had good game; 

'This is old threed-bare Conscience that dwelt with 
Saint Peter;' 

But they wold not admitt me to be a chimney-sweeper. 

V. 35, an nd. MS V. 43, they be these. MS. V, 46, wm 

derided. MS. V. 53, packe me. V. 67, wonne. MS. 



^pi^ tttfl COMPLAINT bV OOKdOlti^CllSb 15 

** Nof one wold receive me, the Lord 'he' doth know. 

I, haying hut one poor pennye in my pnrsei 65 

On an awle and some patches I did it bestow; 

' For ' I thought better cobble shooes than doe worse. 

Straight then all the coblers began for to curse, 
And by statute wold prove me a rogue and forlome. 
And whipp me out of towne to ' seeke ' where I was borne. 

'* Then did I remember and call to my minde, 71 

The Court of Conscience where once I did sit, 
Not doubting but there I some fiAYor shold find. 
For my name and the place agreed soe fit 
But there of my purpose I fay led a whit, 75 

For *thoughe' the judge us'd my name in everya 

' commission,' 
The lawyers with their quillets wold get *my' dis- 
mission. 

" Then Weslminster-hall was noe place for me ; 

Good Lord 1 how the lawyers began to assemble ; 

And fearfull they were lest there I shold bee I 80 

The silly poore clarkes began for to tremble ; 

I showed them my cause, and did not dissemble. 
Soe they gave me some money my charges to beare, 
But swore me on a booke I must never come there. 

** Next the Merchants said, * Counterfeite, get thee away. 
Dost thou remember how wee thee fond ? 86 

We banisht thee the country beyond the salt sea. 
And sett thee on shore in the New-found land. 
And there thou and wee most friendly shook hand ; 

And we were right glad when thou didst refuse us, 90 
For when we wold reape profitt here thou woldst accuse 
us.' 

' Then, had I noe way but for to goe on 

To Gentlemens houses of an ancyent name. 

Declaring my greeffes ; and there I made moane, 

' Telling ' how their forefathers held me in fame, 95 

And at letting their farmes how always I came. 

V. 70, see. MS. V. 76^ condicion. MS. V. 77, get a MS 

V. 95, And how. MS. 



16 Tm OOKPLAIHT OF OOHBOXENOB. 

They sayd, ' Fye npon thee ; we may thee onrae i 
' Theire ' leases continne« and we &re the worse.' 

^ And then I was forced a begging to goe 
To hnsbandmens houses, who greeved right sore, 100 

And sware that their landlords had plagued th^ so, 
That they were not able to keepe open doore, 
Nor nothing had left to give to the poore. 
Therefore to this wood I doe me repayro 
With hepps and hawes ; that is my best fkre. 105 

** Yot within this same desert some comfort I have 

Of Mercy, of Pittye, and of Almes-deeds, 

Who have vowed to company me to my grave. 

Wee are ' all ' put to silence, and live npon weeds, 

* And hence such cold house-keeping proceeds ; ' 110 

Our banishment is its utter decay. 

The which the riche glutton will answer one day." 

" Why then," I said to him, " me-thinks it were best 
To goe to the Glergie ; for dailye they preach 
Eche man to love you above all the rest ; 115 

Of Mercye and Pittie, and Almes-' deeds ' they teach." 
" O," said he, *' noe matter of a pin what they preach, 

For their wives and their children soe hange them 
upon. 

That whosoever gives ahnes they will ^ give none." 

Then laid he him down, and turned him away, 120 

And prayd me to goe and leave him to rest 
I told him, I haplie might yet see the day 
For him and his fellowes to live with the best 
^ First,'* said he, ^ banish Pride, then all England were 
blest ; 
For then those wold love us that now sell their 

land, 125 

And then good ' house-keeping wold revive ' out of 
hand." 

V. 101, 80 sore. MS. V. 109, ill. MS. V, 110, not in MS. 

V. 119, almes-deeds. MS. V. 126, houses eyery where wold bt 

kept. MS. 

' We ought in justice and truth to read ' can.' 



ixAnr TBUTB Am blind igkobanoi. 17 

n. 

HffUiin Crutj^ antf SItntf fgjaotsaut. 

This excellent old ballad is preserved in the little andent Miscellan j 
entitled, The Garland of OoodtoilL Ignorance is here made to speak 
in the broad Somersetslure dialect. The scene we may suppose to be 
Glftstonbnry Abbey. 

TBUTH. 

*^ Gk>D speed you, ancient &ther, 

And give you a good daye ; 
What is the cause, I praye you, 

So sadly here you staye ? 
And that you keep such gazing 6 

On this decayed place, 
The which, for superstition, 

Good princes down did raze ? " 

IGNOBANOE. 

" Chill tell thee, by my vazen,^ 10 

That zometimes che have knowno 
A vair and goodly abbey 

Stand here of bricke and stone ; 
And many a holy vrier. 

As ich may say to thee, 
Within these goodly cloysten IS 

Ohe did full often zee." 

TBUTH. 

^ Then I must tell thee, father, 

In truthe and veriti^, 
A sorte of greater hypocrites 

Thou couldst not likely see ; 20 

Deceiving of the simple 

With false and feigned lies : 
But such an order truly 

Christ never did devise." 

■ i, e. taithen : as in the midland countieB tbey say honsen, dostn, fox 

closes. A. 
TOL. n. ^ 



18 PLAUr TBUTR AJKD 

IGNOBAKOK. 

** All ! ah ! ohe zmell thee now, man ; 25 

Che know well what thou art ; 
A v^ow of mean learning, 

Thee was not worth a vart ; 
Yor when we had the old lawe^ 

A merry world was then, 
And every thing was plenty 80 

Among all zorts of men" 

TBUTH. 

*' ThoQ givest me an answer, 

As did the Jewes sometimes 85 

Unto the prophet Jeremye, 

When he acens'd their crimes : 
'Twas merry,' sayd the people, 

* And joyfall in our rea'me. 
When we did oifer spice-cakes 

Unto the queen of hea V ** 40 

lONOBANOB. 

^ Chill tell thee what, good Tellowe, 

Before the yriers went hence 
A bnshell of the best wheate 

Was zold vor vourteen pence ; 
And Torty egges a penny, 45 

That were both good and newe ; 
And this che zay my zelf have scene 

And yet ich am no Jewe. " 

TRUTH. 

** Within the sacred bible 

We find it written plain, 50 

The lattet days shonld troublesome 

And dangerous be, certaine ; 
That we should be, self-lovers, 

And charity wax colde ; 
Then 'tis not true religion 55 

That makes thee gridT to holde." 



BLUID IGN0BAN01» 19 

IGNOBANOE, 

** Chill tell thee my opinion plaine. 

And choul'd that well ye ^ewe, 
Ich care not for the bible booke, 

*Tis too big to be true. 60 

Our blessed Ladyes psalter 

Zhall for my money goe ; 
Zuch pretty prayers, as there bee,^ 

The bible cannot zhowe." 

TBUTH. 

<' Nowe hast thou spoken tmly^ 65 

For in that book indeede 
No mention of Our Lady, 

Or Bomish saint we read ; 
For by the blessed Spirit 

That book indited was, 70 

And not by simple persons. 

As was the foolish masse." 

IGNOBAKOE. 

** Cham zure they were not voolishe 

That made the masse, che trowe ; 
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine, 75 

And Yooles no Latine knowe. 
Were not our fathers wise men. 

And they did like it well. 
Who very much rejoyced 

TohearethezacringbeU?" 80 

TBVTH. 

** But many kinges and prophetic 

As I may say to thee, 
Have wisht the light that you have 

And could it never see ; 
For what art thou the better 85 

A Latin song to heare. 
And understandest nothing. 

That they sing in the quiere ? " 

* ftobably alluding to the iUuininated Psalters, Missals^ &c. 



2d PLAIN TBUTH AND BLIND IGNOBANCI. 
IGNOBANOS. 

** hold thy peace, che pray thee, 

The noise was passing trim 90 

To heaie the yriers zinging 

As we did enter in ; 
And then to zee the rood-loft 

Zo bravely zet with zaints ; — 
Bat now to zee them wandring 05 

My heart with zorrow Taints." 

TBUTH. 

'' The Lord did give commandment 

No image thou shouldst make, 
Nor that unto idolatry 

Yon shonld your self betake. IQO 

The golden calf of Israel 

Moses did therefore spoile ; 
And Baal's priests and temple 

Were brought to utter foile.* 

IGNORANCE. 

" But Our Lady of Walsinghame 105 

Was a pure and holy zaint, 
And many men in pilgrimage 

Did shew to her complaint. 
Yea with zweet Thomas Becket, 

And many other moe. 110 

The holy maid of Kent ^ likewise 

Did many wonders zhowe." 

TRUTH. 

'' Such saints are well agreeing 

To your profession sure, 
And to the men that made them US 

So precious and so pure ; 
The one for being a traytoure 

Met an untimely death ; 
The other eke for treason 

Did end her hateful breath." 120 

• By name Eliz. Barton, executed April 21, 1534.— Stow, p. 570. 



THX WAMDXSINO JEW, 21 

IGKOBANCS. 

** Yea, yea, it is no matter, 

Dispraise them how you wille; 
But zure they did much goodnesse. 

Would they were with us stille 1 
We had our holy water, 125 

And holy hresA likewise. 
And many holy reliques 

We zaw before our eyes." 

TBUTH. 

" And all this while they fed you 

With yaine and empty showe ISO 

Which never Christ commanded, 

As learned doctors knowe. 
Search then the holy scriptures, 

And thou shalt plainly see 
That headlong to damnation 135 

They alway trained thee." 

IGNOBANOE. 

** If it be true, good vellowe, 

As thou dost zay to mee. 
Unto my heavenly Fader 

Alone then will I flee, 140 

Believing in the Gospel, 

And passion of his Zon ; 
And with the zubtil papistes 

Ich have for ever done." 



UL 
Cj^e Wanlfmng S(elo. 

The story of the Wandering Jew is of oonsiderable antiquity : it had 
obtained ftill oredit in this part of the world before the year 1228, ai 
we learn from Matthew Paris. For in that year, it seems, there came 
an Ainmenian archbishop into England, to visit the shrines and reliqiiea 
preserved in oui churches, who being entertained at the monastery ot 



22 THX WANDERING tKW. 

St Alban's, was asked several questions relating to his oonntrr, &o. 
Among the rest, a monk, who sat near him, inquired, '* If he had ever 
seen or heard of the famous person named Joseph, that was so mudi 
talked of; who was present at our Lord's crucifixion, and oonversed with 
him, and who was still alive in confirmation of the Christian Mth." 
The archbishop answered. That the fact was true. And afterwards one 
of his train, who was well known to a servant, of the abbot's, interpreting 
his master's words, told them in French, *' That his lord knew the person 
they spoke of very well : that he Lad dined at his table but a little while 
before he left the East : that he had been Pontius Pilate's porter, by 
name Gartaphilus ; who, when they were dragging Jesus out of the door 
of the Judgment-hall, struck him with his fi^t on the back, flaying, ** Go 
faster, Jesus, go faster, why dost thou linger ? " Upon which Jesos 
looked at him with a frown, and said, " I indeed am going, but thou 
shalt tarry till I come." Soon after he was converted, and baptized by 
the name of Joseph. He lives for ever, but at the end of every hundred 
years falls into an incurable illness, and at length into a fit or ecstasy, 
out of which, when he recovers, he returns to the same state of youth 
he was in when Jesus suffered, being then about thirty years of age. 
He remembers all the circumstances of the death and resurrection of 
Christ, the saints that arose with him, the composing of the Apostles' 
Creed, their preaching and dietpersion ; and is himself a very grave and 
holy person." This ia the substance of Matthew Paris's account, who 
was himself a monk of St Alban's and was living at the time when this 
Armenian archbishop made the above relation. 

Since his time, several imposters have appeared at intervals under 
the name and character of the Wandering Jew ; whose several histories 
may be seen in Calmet's Dictionary of the Bible. See also the Turkish 
Sptfy vol. ii. book iii. let 1. The story that is copied in the following 
ballad is of one who appeared at Hamburgh in 1547, and pretended he 
luid been a Jewish shoemaker at the time of Christ*8 crucifixion. The 
ballad, however, seems to be of later date. It is preserved in black* 
ietter in the Pepys Collection. 

When as in faire Jerusalem 

Our Saviour Christ did live, 
And for the sins of all the worlde 

His own deare life did give, 
The wicked Jewes with scofifes and soornes 5 

Did dailye him molest. 
That never tiU he left his life. 

Our Saviour could not rest. 

When they had crown'd his head with thomes, 

And scourg'd him to disgrace, IQ 

In scomfull sort they led him forthe 
Unto his dying place, 



VHX WAKDEBING JEW. 29r 

Where tbotusand tbonsands in the streete 

Beheld him passe along, 
Yet not one gentle heart was there, 15 

That pity^ this his wrong. 

Both old and young reviled him, 

As in the streete he wente, 
And nought he found but churlish tauntes, 

By every ones conseute : 20 

His owne deare cross he bore himselfe, 

A burthen far too great, 
Wbich made him in die streete to fainte, 

With blood and water sweat. 

Being, weary thus, he sought for rest, 26 

To ease his burdened soule, 
Upon a stone ; the which a wretch 

Did churlishly controule ; 
And sayd, *' Awaye, thou King of Jowes, 

Thou shalt not rest thee here ; 8C 

Pass on ; thy execution place 

Thou seest nowe draweth neare." 

And thereupon he thrust him thence ; 

At which our Saviour sayd, 
'* I sure will rest, but thou shalt walke, 85 

And have no journey stayed." 
With that this cursed shoemaker. 

For offering Christ this wrong, 
Left wife and children, house and all. 

And went from thence along. 40 

Where after he had scene the blonde 

Of Jesus Christ thus shed, 
And to the crosse his bodye nail'd. 

Away with speed he fled. 
Without returning backe againe 45 

Unto his dwelling place. 
And wandred up and downe the worlde, 

A runnagate most base. 



24 THB WAimSBIKG JXW. 

No resting could lie finde at all. 

No ease, nor hearts content ; SO 

No house, nor home, nor biding place ; 

But wandring forth he went 
From towne to towne in foreigne landes. 

With grieved conscience still, 
Bepenting for the heinous guilt 66 

Of his fore-passed ill. 

Thus after some fewe ages past 

In wandring up and downe, 
He much again desired to see 

Jerusalems renowne. 60 

Bat finding it all quite destroyd. 

He wandred thence with woe^ 
Our Saviours wordes, which he had spoke^ 

To verifie and showa 

'< r 11 rest," sayd hee, '' but thou shalt walke f 66 

So doth this wandring Jew, 
From place to place, but cannot rest 

For seeing counkies newe ; 
Declaring still the power of him. 

Whereas he comes or goes ; 70 

And of all things done in the east, 

Since Christ his death, he showea 

The world he hath still compast round 

And scene those nations strange, 
That hearing of the same of Christ, 76 

Their idol gods doe change : 
To whom he hath told wondrous thinge* 

Of time forepastand gone, 
And to the princes of the worlde 

Declares his cause of moane : 80 

Desiring still to be dissolv'd, 

And yeild his mortal breath ; 
But, if the Lord hath thus decreed. 

He shall not yet see death. 



THB WANDEBING JEW. 2S 

For neither lookes he old nor young, 85 

But as he did those times 
When Christ did suffer on the crosse 

For mortall sinners crimes. 

He hath past throngh many a foreigne plaoe^ 

Arabia, Egypt, Africa, 90 

Grecia, Syria, and great Thrace, 

And throughout all Hungaria : 
Where Paul and Peter preached Christ, 

Those blest apostles deare, 
There he hath told our Sayiours wordes, 96 

In countries far and neare. 

And lately in Bohemia, 

With many a German towne, 
And now in Flanders, as tis thought^ 

He wandreth up and downe : 100 

Where learned men with him conf erre 

Of those his lingering dayes. 
And wonder much to heare him tell 

His joumeyes and his wayes. 

If people give this Jew an almoB, 105 

The most that he will take 
Is not above a groat a time : 

Which he, for Jesus' sake. 
Will kindlye give unto the poore, 

And thereof make no spare, 110 

Affirming still that Jesus Chnst 

Of him hath dailye care* 

He ne'er was scene to laugh nor smilO| 

But weepe and make great moane ; 
Lamonting still his miseries, 115 

And dayes forepast and gone. 
If he heare any one blaspheme, 

Or take Qod*a name in vaine, 
He tells them that they crucifie 

Their Saviour Christe againo. 120 



26 THE LTM. 

*' it you had seene his death/' saith he^ 

" As these mine eyes have done, 
Ten thousand thousand times would yee 

His torments think upcn, 
And suffer for his sake all paine lit 

Of torments, and all woes :" 
These are his wordes, and eke his life, 

Whereas he comes or goes. 



IV. 
Cf)e lue, 

BT SIB WALTEB BALKIGH, 

is found in a very Boarce miscellany, entitled " Davison's Poems, or a 
poeticall Bapsodie, divided into sixe books. . . . The 4th iropressioii 
newly corrected and augmented, and put into a forme more pleasing to 
the reader. Lond. 1621, 12mo.*' This poem is reported to have Men 
written by its celebrated author the night before his execution, Oct. 29, 
1618. But this must be a mistake, for there were at least two editions 
of Davison's Poems before that time, one in 1608/ the other in 1611.' 
So that unless this poem was an afler-insertion in the fourth edit, it 
must have been written long before the death of Sir Walter : perhaps 
it was composed soon after his coodemjiation in 1603. — See Oldys's Life 
0/ Sir WaUer Baleigh, p. 173, foL 

GoE, soule, the bodies guest. 

Upon a thankelesse arrant ; 
Feare not to touche the best. 
The truth shall be thy warrant ; 

Goe, since I needs must dye, 6 

And give the world the lye. 

Qoe tell the court it glowes 

And shines like rotten wood ; 
Goe tell the church it showes 

What's good, and doth no good ; 10 

If church and court reply. 
Then give them both the lye. 

> Catalogue of T. Rawlinson, 1727. 

* Catalogue of Sion. Coll. Library. This is either lost or miilakL 



THE LTS. 27 

Tell potentates they live 

Acting by others actions ; 
Not lov'd imlesse they give, 15 

JSot strong but by their factions ; 
If potentates reply, 
Giye potentates the lye. 

Tell men of high condition, 

That mle afi&irs of state, 20 

Their purpose is ambition, 
Their practise onely hate ; 
And if they onco reply. 
Then give them all the lyo. 

Tell them that brave it most, 25 

They beg for more by spending, 
Who in their greatest cost 

Seek nothing but commending ; 
And if they make reply, 
Spare not to give the lye. 80 

Tell zeale it lacks devotion ; 

Tell love it is but lust ; 
Tell time it is but motion ; 
Tell flesh it is but dust ; 
And wish them not reply, 35 

For thou must give the lye. 

Tell age it daily wasteth ; 

Tell honour how it alters ; 
Tell beauty how she blasteth ; 

Tell favour how she falters ; 40 

And as they shall reply, 
Give each of them the lye. 

Tell wit how much it wrangles 
In tickle points of nicenesse ; 
rt41 wisedome she entangles 48 

Herselfe in over-wisenesse ; 
And if they do reply, 
Straight give them both the lye. 



VBB8BS BT KINQ JAMBS I. 

Tell physicke of her boldnesse ; 

Tell skill it is pretension ; 50 

Tell charity of coldness ; 
Toll law it is contention : 
And as they yield reply, 
80 give them still the lye. 

Tell fortune of her blindnesse ; 55 

Tell nature of decay ; 
Tell friendship of unkindnesse ; 
Tell justice of delay ; 
And if they dare reply, 
Then give them all the lye. 60 

Tell arts they have no soundnesse, 

But vary by esteeming ; 
Tell schooles they want profoundneflse 
And stand too much on seeming ; 

If arts and schooles reply, 65 

Give arts and schooles Uie lye. 

Tell faith it's fled the citie ; 

Tell how the countrey erreth ; 
Toll, manhood shakes off pitie ; 

Tell, vertue least preferreth : 70 

And, if they doe reply. 
Spare not to give the lye. 

So when thou hast, as I 

Commanded thee, done blabbing, 
Although to give the lye 75 

Deserves no less than stabbing. 
Yet stab at thee who will, 
No stab the soule can kill. 



V. 

In the first edition of this book were inserted, by way of specimen of 
His Majesty's poetic tulents, some Punning Verses made on the dis- 
pntations at Stirling ; but it having been suggested to tlie F/Jitor, that 



yXBSBS BT KINO JAMES I. 29 

the king only gaye the quibbling commeDdations in prose, and that some 
obseqaiens oourt-rhymer put them into metre/ it was thought proper 
to exchange tbem for two sonnets of King James's own composition. 
James was a great versifier, and therefore out of the multitude of hii 
poems we have here selected two, which (to show our impartiality) are 
written in his best and his worst manner. The first would not dis- 
honour any writer of that time ; the second is a most complete exampl* 
ttf the Bathos. 

A SONNBT ADDRESSED BY KIKO JAMES TO HIS SON 
PBINCE HENBT. 

From King James's Works in folio : where is also prmted another, called 
His Maj^ty's own Sonnet: it would perhaps be to cruel to infer 
from thence that this was not His Majesty's own Sonnet 

Qgd gives not kings the stile of gods in vaine. 
For on his throne his scepter do they swey ; 
And as their subjects ought them to obey, 

So kings should feare and serve their Qod againe. 

If then ye would enjoy a happie reigne, 5 

Observe the statutes of our heavenly King ; 
And from his law make all your laws to spring ; 

Since his lieutenant here ye should remaine. 

Bewarde the just, be stedfast, true, and plaine ; 

Eepresse the proud, maintayning aye the right ; 10 

Walke always so as ever in His sight 
Who guardes the godly, plaguing the prophane. 

And so ye shall in princely vertues shine, 

Besembling right your mightie King divine. 



A SONNET OCCASIONED BT THE BAD WEATHER WmCH 
HINDEBED THE SPORTS AT NEW-MABEET 
IN JANUARY, 1616. 

This is printed from Drummondof Hawthomden's Works, folio; where 
also may be seen some verses of Lord Stirling upon this Sonnet, whicfh 
concludes with the finest anti-climax I remember to have seen. 

How cruelly these catives do conspire ! 

What loathsome love breeds such a baleful band 
Betwixt the cankred King of Creta land,' 

That melancholy, old and angry sire, 

' See a Mka entitled ITte Muses Welcome to King Jamee. * Satan. 



30 xnro johh and 

And him, wlio wont to quench dehate and iio 5 

Among the Bomans when his ports were clos'd ! ^ 
But now his doable fjAce is still disposed, 

With Saturn's help, to fteeze ns at the fire. 

The earth ore-covered with a sheet of snow, 
Befnses food to fowl, to bird, and beast ; 10 

The chilling cold lets every thing to grow. 
And surfeits cattle with a starving feast 

Curs'd be that love and mought ^ continue short, 

Which kills all creatures, and doth spoil our sport. 

' Janus. * u e, may it 



VL 
, fitng 3ol^n axOt (^t Hbhot of Canterbury. 

The oommon popular ballad of King John and the Abbot seems to 
have been abridged and modernised about the time of James I. from 
one much older, entitled King John and the Bishop of Canterbury 
The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt 
a state to be reprinted ; it however afibrded many lines worth reviving, 
which will be found inserted in the ensuing stanzas. 

The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much 
admired by our old ballad-makers ; for besides the two copies above 
mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject (but of 
no great antiquity or merit), entitled King Olfrey and the Abbots 
Lastly, about the time of the ciyil wars, when the cry ran against the 
bishops, some Puritan worked up the same story into a very doleful- 
ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning " King Henry and a Bishop ;" with 
this stinging moral : 

« Unlearned men bard matters out can find, 
When learned bishops princes eyes do blind." 

The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, 
to the tune of " Derry down." 

An ancieut story He tell you anon 
Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; 
And he ruled England with maine and with might. 
For he did great wrong, and maintein'd little right. 

1 See the collection of Historical Ballads, 3 vols., 1727. Mr. Wise 
supposes Olfrey to be a corruption of Alfred, in his pamphlet concerning 
tk.a Whitb Hobse in Berkshire, p. 15. 



TIU ABBOT OF OAITTSBBUBT. 81 

And lie tell yon a story, a story so merrye, 5 

Goncemmg the Abbot of Canterburye ; 

How for his house-keeping and high renowne. 

They rode poste for him to fair London towne. 

An hundred men, the king did heare say, 

The abbot kept in his house every day ; 10 

And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, 

In yelvet coates waited the abbot about. 

*^ How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee. 

Thou keepest a farre better house than mee ; 

And for ^j house-keeping and high renowne, 16 

I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.' 

" My Hege," quo' the abbot, " I would it were knowne 

I never spend nothing, but what is my owhe ; 

And I trust your grace will doe me no deere. 

For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 20 

** Tes, yes, fSaiher abbot, thy fault it is highe, 
And now for the same thou needest must dye ; 
For except thou canst ansvirer me questions three. 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. 

^ And first, " quo' the king, '* when Fm in this stead, 25 
With my crowne of golde so iaire on my head. 
Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe. 
Thou must tdl me to one penny what I am worthe. 

" Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt. 

How soone I may ride the whole world about ; 30 

And at the third question thou must not shrink, 

But tell me here truly what I do think." 

*' O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt. 

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 

But if you will gLve me but three weekes space, 35 

He do my endeayour to answer your grace." 

^ Now three weeks space to thee will I give, 

And this is the longest time thou hast to live ; 

For if thou dost not answer my questions three. 

Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to mee." 40 



32 KDrG JOHN ANB 

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, 
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxonford ; 
But never a doctor there was so wise, 
That could with his learning an answer devise* 

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, 45 

And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
*^ How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good King John ? " 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give, 

That I have but three days more to live ; 50 

For if I do not answer him questions three. 

My head will be smitten from my bodie. 

'< The first is to tell him there in that stead, 

With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, 

Among all his liege-men so noble of birth, 65 

To within one penny of what he is worth. 

" The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt. 

How soone he may ride this whole world about ; 

And at the third question I must not shrinke. 

But tell him there truly what he does thinke." 60 

^ Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet. 
That a fool he may learn a wise man witt ? 
Lend me horse, and serving mon, and your apparel. 
And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel. 

"Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, €5 

I am like your lordship, as ever may bee ; 

And if you will but lend me your gowne. 

There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne." 

•* Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, 

With sumptuous array most gallant and brave, 70 

With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, 

Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope '* 

** Now, welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say 

" Tis well thou*rt come back to koepe thy day : 

For and if thou canst answer uiy questions three^ 75 

Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 



THB ABBOT OF OANTIBBUBT. 83 

^ And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, 

With my crown of golde so fair on my head. 

Among all my liege-men so noble of birthe, 

Tell me to one penny what I am worth." 80 

*' For thirty pence onr Sayionr was sold 
Amonge the flEJse Jewes, as I have bin told : 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinke thou art one penny worser than hee." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St Bitted 86 

^ I did not think I had been worth so littel! 
— Now secondly tell mee, without any doubt. 
How soone I may ride this whole world about." 

*' Tou must rise with the sun, and ride with the same 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 90 

And then your grace need not make any doubt 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone, 

** I did not think it could be gone so soone ! 

— ^Now from the third question thou must not shrinke, 95 

But tell me here truly what I do thinke." 

" Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry ; 

You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbury ; 

But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see. 

That am come to beg pardon fur him and for mee." 100 

The king he laughed, and swore by the masse, 
" He make thee lord abbot this day in his place I" 
** Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede, 
For alacke I can neither write ne reade." 

" Four nobles a weeke, then, I ynH give thee, 106 

For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee ; 

And tell the old abbot when thou comest home. 

Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John." 

• 

' Meaning probably St. Botolph. 



TOL. II. 



34 TOV MEANEB BBAimMI 

vn. 

I^ou iSUaner fijeautte^. 

This little sonnet was written by Sir Heniy Wotton, Knight, on that 
amiable princess, Elizabeth, daughter of James L and wife of the 
Elector Palatine, who was chosen King of Bohemia, Sep. 5, 1619. The 
consequences of this fatal election are well known : Sir Henry Wotton, 
who in that and the following year was employed in several embassies 
in G^ermany on behalf of this unfortunate lady, seems to have bad an 
uncommon attachment to her merit and fortunes, for he gave away 
a jewel worth a thousand poimds, that was presented to mm by the 
emperor, '* because it came £rom an enemy to his royal mistress the 
Queen of Bohemia." — See Biogr. Britan. 

This song is printed from the Bdiquias WMmiana 1651, with some 
oorrections from an old MS. copy. 

Yon meaner beauties of the nigbt, 

That poorly Batisfie our eies 
More by your number than your light, 

You common-people of the skies, 

What are you when the moon shall rise ? 5 

Ye yiolets that first appeare, 

By your pure purple mantles known. 

Like iJie proud virgins of the yeare, 
As if the Spring were all your own, 
What are you when the rose is blown ? IC 

Ye curious chaunters of the wood, 
That warble forth dame Nature's layes. 

Thinking your passions understood 

By j^our weak accents, what's your praise 

When Philomell her voyce shall raise ? 16 

So when my mistris shal be scene 
In sweetnesse of her looks and minde. 

By virtue first, then choyce, a queen, 
Tell me, if she was not designed 
Th' eclypse and glory of her kind ? 20 



m OLD AND TOUMG OOUBTIBB. 85 

vin. 

C|^ eXtt aM l^oung dtowctin. 

This exoellent old song, the rabject of which is a oompariaon between 
the maimers of the old gentiy, as still sabsisting in the tiiues of 
Elinbeth, and the modem refinements affected bj their sons in the 
reigns of her snccessors, is given, with corrections, from an ancient 
black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, compared with another 
printed among some misoellaneoas ** poems and songs " in a book 
entitled Le Prince d^ Amour, 1660, 8yo. 

An old song made by an aged old pate, 
Of an old worshipfdl genUeman who had a greate estate, 
That kept a brave old house at a bonntiful rate, 
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate 

Like an old courtier of the queen's, 

And the queen's old courtier. 

With an old lady, whose anger one word asswages. 
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages. 
And never Imew what belonged to coachmen, footmen, nor 



But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges ; 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, 

With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his 

looks; 
With an old buttery hatch worn quite ofif the hooks. 
And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks ; 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns and bows. 
With old swords and bucklers that had borne many shrewde 

blows, 
And an old frize coat to cover his worship's trunk hose, 
And a cup of old sherry to comfort his copper nose ; 
Like an old courtier, <&c 

D 2 



86 THl OLD AKD TOUNO OOUBTIEB. 

With a good old fasliion, when Christmasse was come, 
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and dmm, 
With good chear enough to famish every old room, 
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb 
Like an old courtier, &c. 

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, 
That never hawked nor hunted but in his own grounds. 
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds. 
And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good 
pounds; 
Like an old courtier, &o. 

But to his eldest son his house and land he assigned. 
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind, 
To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be 

kind: 
But in the ensuing ditty yon shall hear how he was inclin'd ; 

Like a young courtier of the king's, 

And the king's young courtier. 

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, 
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command. 
And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land, 
And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor 
stand; 
Like a young courtier, &c. 

With a new-fangled lady that is dainty, nice and spare. 
Who never knew what belong'd to good housekeeping or 

care. 
Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air, 
And seven or eight different dressings of oUier womens 

hair; 

Like a young courtier, &o. 

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood. 
Hung round with new pictures that do the poor no good, 



THB OLD AHD TOUH O OOUBTISB. 87 

With a fine marble chimney wherein boms neither ooal nor 

wood, 
And a new smooth shoyelboard whereon no yictoals ne'er 

stood; 
Like a young conrtier, &o. 

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets and plays, 
And a new chaplain that swears faster than he prays. 
With a new buttery hatch that opens once in four or five 

days, 
And a oew French cook to deyise fine kickshaws and toys ; 
Like a young courtier, &o. 

With a new fashion when Christmas is drawing on, 
On a new journey to London straight we all must begone. 
And leave none to keep house but our new porter John, 
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a 



Like a young courtier, <&o. 

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat. 
With a new coachman, footman and pages to carry up the 

meat, 
With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat. 
Who, when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat ; 
Like a young courtier, &c. 

With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold, 
For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are sold : 
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold. 
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold, 

Among the young courtiers of the king. 

Or the king's young courtiers. 

« « 



38 OB JOHN SUOKIiINO's OAMPAIORB. 

IX. 

dtr Sxifin ^nAlin^n Campatgne. 

When the Scottish covenanters rose np in anns, and advanced to tbf 
English borders in 1639, many of the conrtiers complimented the khig 
by raising forces at their own expense. Among these, none were more 
distinguished than the gallant Sir John Suckling, who raised a troop ol 
horse, so richly accoutred, that it cost him 12,0002. The like expensive 
equipment of other parts of the army made the king remark, that ^ the 
Scots would fight stoutly, if it were but for the Englishmen's fine cloaths." 
[Lloyd's Memoirs.] When they came to action, the rugged Scots proved 
more than a match for the fine showy English : many of whom behaved 
remarkably ill, and among the rest this splendid troop of Sir John 
Suckling's. 

This humorous pasquil has been generally supposed to have been 
written by Sir John, as a banter upon himself. Some of his contempo- 
raries, however, attributed it to Sir John Mennis, a wit of those times^ 
among whose poems it is printed in a small poetictd miscellany, entitled, 
** Musarum delicisB : or the Muses' recreation, containing several pieces 
of poetique wit, 2nd edition. By Sir J. M. [Sir John Mennis] and Ja. 
S. [James Smith.] London. 1 656, 12mo." [See Wood's Athena, ii. 397, 
418.] In that copy is subjoined an additional stanza, wMdb probably 
was written by this Sir John Mennis, viz. — 

^ But now there is peace, he's retum'd to increase 
His money, which lately he spent-a ; 
Bat his lost honour must lye still in the dust ; 
At BtHTwick away it went-a." 

Sib John he got liiin an ambling nag, 

To Scotland for to ride-a, 
With a htmdred horse more, all his own he swore, 

To guard him on every side-a. 

No errant-knight ever went to fight 5 

With halfe so gay a bravado. 
Had you seen but his look, yould have sworn on a book, 

Heeld have conquered a whole armado. 

The ladies ran all to the windows to see 

So gallant and warlike a sight-a, 10 

And as he passed, they said with a sigh, 

** Sir John, why will you go fight-a ? ** 



TO ALTHBA FBOM PBI80V. 39 

But he, like a cruel knight, spurred on, 

His heart would not relent-a, 
For, till he came there, what had he to fear, 15 

Or why should he repent-a ? 

The king (God bless him !) had singular hopes 

Of him and all his troop-a : 
The borderers they, as they met him on the way, . 

For joy did hollow and whoop-a. 20 

None lik'd him so well as his own colonell, 

Who took him for John de Wert-a ; 
Bnl when there were shows of gunning and blows. 

My gallant was nothing so pert-a. 

For when the Scots army camo within sight, 25 

And all prepared to fight-a. 
He ran to his tent ; they ask'd what he meant 

He swore he must needs goe sh^^te-a. 

The colonell sent for him back agen, 

To quarter him in the van-a, 80 

But Sir John did swear, he would not come there 

To be kill'd the very first man-a. 

To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare, 

Some ten miles back, and more-a ; 
Where Sir John did play at trip and away, 35 

And ne'er saw the enemy more-a. 

V. 9.2, John de Wert was a German general of great reputation, and 
the terror of the French in the reign of Louis XIII. Hence his name 
became proverbial in France, where he was cabled De Vert.— See Bayle's 
Dictionary. 



X. 

Co aitl^ca from ^rulon. 

This excellent sonnet, which possessed a hig;h degree of fame among the 
old Oavaliers, was written by Colonel Blchard Ix>velace, during his 
oonflnement in the Gkite-honse, Westminster : to which he was committed 
by the House of Commons, in April, 1642, for presenting a petition from 



40 TO ALTHSA VBOM PBIBOIT. 

tne oonnty of Kent, xequeeting them to restore the king to his rights, 
and to settle the govemmeut. See Wood's Athenxy toI. ii. p. 228, and 
Lysons* Enttirons of London^ vol. i. p. 109 ; where may be seen at large 
the a£fectlng story of this elegant writer, who, after having been dis- 
tinguished H)r every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern of 
his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretched- 
ness, obscurity, and want, in 1658. 

This song is printed from a scarce volume of his poems, entitled 
jMcada^ 1649, 12mo, collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

When Love with nnconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
When I lye tangled in her haire 5 

And fetter'd with her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the aire 

Know no such libertye. 

When flowing cnps mn swiftty ronnd 

With no allaying Thames, 10 

Our carelesse heads with roses orown'd, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe« 

When healths and draughts goe free, 
Fishes that tipple in the deepe 15 

Know no such libertie. 

When, linnet-like oonfinM, I 

With shriller note shall sing 
The mercye, sweetness, majestye 

And glories of my king ; 20 

When I shall voyce aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, 
Th' enlargM windes that curie the flood 

Know no such libertie. 

Stone walls doe not a prison make, 25 

Nor iron barres a cage, 
Mindes, innocent and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage. 

Ver. 10, W th woe-allaying themes. MS. Thames is here used §». 
water in genei il. 



DOWNTALL OF OHASINChOBOa. 41 

If I have freedom in my loye, 

And in my sonle am free, 30 

Angels alone that soare aboTd 

Enjoy such libertie. 



XL 
Q^e Solottfan of €l^Bxingf€voaa. 

Charing-oross, as it Btood before the civil wars, was one of those hean- 
tifol Golhio obelisks erected to conjugal a£fection by Edward I., who 
built such an one wherever the hearse of his beloved Eleanor rested in its 
way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental 
situation, the beauty of its structure, nor the noble design of its erection, 
(which did honour to humanity,) could preserve it from the merciless 
zeal of the times : for, in 1647, it was demolished by order of the Hons* 
of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned the following 
not unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed among tlie 
popular sonnets of those times. 

The plot referred to in ver. 17 was that entered into by Mr. Waller 
the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the 
service of the king, for which two of them, Nathaniel Tomkins and 
Bichard Chaloner, suffered death, July 5, 1643. — Vide Athen. Ox. ii. 24. 

Undone, undone the lawyers are, 

They wander about the towne, 
Nor can find the way to Westminster, 

Now Charing-<;ross is downe ; 
At the end of the Strand they make a stand, 5 

Swearing they are at a loss. 
And chaffing say that's not the way. 

They must go by Charing-cross. 

The Parliament to vote it down 

Conceived it very fitting, 10 

For fear it should fall and kill them all 

In the house, as they were sitting. 
They were told, god- wot, it had a plot, 

Which made ihem so hard-hearted 
To give command it should not stand, 15 

But be taken down and carted. 



^2 THX DOWNFALL OF CHABINtr 0B06S. 

Men talk of plots, this might have been worse 

For anytliing I know, 
Than that Tomkins and Chaloner 

Were hang'd for long agoe. 20 

Our Parliament did that prevent, 

And wisely them defended, 
For plots they will discover still 

Before they were intended. 

But neither man, woman, nor child, 25 

WiU say, I'm confident, 
They ever heard it speak one word 

Against the Parliament. 
An mformer swore, it letters bore. 

Or else it had been freed. 80 

ril take, in troth, my Bible oath. 

It could neither write nor read. 

The committee said that verily 

To popery it was bent ; 
For ought 1 know it might be so, 85 

For to church it never went. 
What with excise, and such device, 

The kingdom doth begin 
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, 

Without doors nor within. 40 

Methinks the common-council shou'd 

Of it have taken pity, 
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood 

So firmly to the city. 
Since crosses you so much disdain, 45 

Faith, if I were as you, 
For fear the king should rule again, 

I'd pull down Tibum too. 

♦^* Whitelocke says, " May 7, 1643, Cheapside-cross and other crosses 
were voted down,'* &c. But this vote was not put in execution with 
regard to Charing-cross till four years after, as appears from Lilly's 
' Observations on the Life, &o. of King Charles,' viz. '* Charing-cross we 
know, was pulled down 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of tha 
■tones were oonyerted to pave before Whitehall. I have seen knife-hafts 



LOTALTT CONFINXD. 48 

made of some of the stones, whioh, being well polished, looked like 
marble.'' Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo. 

See an account of the pulling down Cheapside-czoas, in the Supple- 
ment to Qent. Mag. 1764. 



XIL 

This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's " Memoires of 
those that suffered in the cause of Charlen I.," London, ldG8, fol. p. 96. 
He roeaks of it as the compoeition of a worthy personage, who suffered 
deeply in those times, and was still livin<^ with no other reward than 
the conscience of having buffered. The author's name he has not men- 
tioned, but if tradition may be credited, thid song was written by Sir 
Keger L'Estrange. Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two 
ethers, one in MS., the other in the *' Westminster Drollery, or a choice 
Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671," 12mo. 

Bbat on, prond billows ! Boreas blow I 

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof I 
Your incivility doth show, 

That innocence is tempest-proof; 
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm ; 5 
Then strike. Affliction, for thy wounds are balm. 

That which the world miscalls a jail, 

A private closet is to me ; 
Whilst a good oonscience is my bail. 

And innocence my liberty. IC 

Locks, bars, and solitude, together met. 
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. 

I, whilst I wisht to be retired, 

Into this private room was tum'd : 
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd 15 

The salamander should be burnd ; 
Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish 
I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish. 

The cynick loves his poverty ; 

The pelican her wilderness ; 20 



44 LOTALTT OONFIMXD. 

And *tis the Indian's pride to be 
Naked on frozen Caucasus ; 
Contentment cannot smart ; stoicks we see 
Hake torments easie to their avathj. 

These manacles upon my arm 25 

I, as my mistress' favours, wear ; 
And for to keep my ancles warm 
I have some iron shackles there ; 
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell, 
Which men call jail, do^ prove my citadel 30 

I'm in the cabinet lockt up. 

Like some high-prized margarite. 
Or, like the great mogul or pope. 

Am cloyster'd up from publick sight ; 
Betiredness is a piece of majesty, 85 

And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee. 

Here sin for want of food must starve, 

Where tempting objects are not seen ; 
And these strong walls do only serve 

To keep vice out, and keep me in ; 40 

Malice of late*s grown charitable sure, 
I'm not committed, but am kept secure. 

So he that struck at Jason's life,^ 

Thinking t' have made his purpose sure, 
By a malicious friendly knife 45 

Did only wound him to a cure ; 
Malice, I see, wants wit ; for what is meant 
Mischief ofb-times proves f&vour by th' event. 

When once my prince affliction hath. 

Prosperity doth treason seem ; 50 

And to make smooth so rough a path, 
I can learn patience from him ; 
Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart, 
When kings want ease subjects must bear a part. 

< See this remarkable story in Cicero de Nat. Deorum, lib. iii. c xxviU. 
Cic. de Offic. L L c. xxx. ; see also Val. Max. L viii. 



TXB8E8 BT KINO OflAltliES L 45 

Wliat though I cannot see my king 55 

Neither in person or in coin. 
Yet contemplation is a thing 

That renders what I have not, mine ; 
My king from me what adamant can part, 
"Wliom I do wear engraven on my heart ? 60 

Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A prisoner like, coopt in a cage, 
How doth she chaunt her wonted tale 
In that her narrow hermitage ? 
Even then her charmiDg melody doth prove, 65 

That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove. 

I am that bird, whom they combine 

Thus to deprive of liberty ; 
But though they do my corps confine, 
Tet maugre hate, my soul is free ; 70 

And though immur'd, yet can I chirp and sing 
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. 

My soul is free as ambient air, 

Although my baser part's immew'd, 
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair 75 

T' accompany my solitude ; 
Although rebellion does my body binde, 
My king alone can captivate my minde. 



xm. 

** This prince, like his father, did not confine himself to prose : Bishop 
Burnet has given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written by Charles in 
Oaridbrooke Castle [in l(i48]. The pot try is most uncouth and un- 
harmonious, but there are strong thoughttt in it, some good sense, and a 
strain of majestic piety."— Walpole's Royal and Noble Authors, v. i. 

It 18 in his Memoirs of the DvJce of Hamilton, p. 379, that Burnet hath 
preserved this elegy, which he tells us he had from a gentleman, who 
waited on the king at the time when it was written, and copied it out 
from the original. It is there entitled, "Majesty in misbbt : ob ah 
Imflobation to the Kinq of kihos." 



46 YISBSES BT EINjGt CHABL£S I. 

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, " that the truth jf the senti- 
nient, rather than the elegance of the expression, renders them very 
pathetic." — See his History, 1763, 4to, vol. v. pp. 437. 442. which is no 
bad comment upon them. — ^These are almost the only verses known of 
Charles's composition. Indeed, a little poem, On a Quiet Conscience^ 
printed in tiie Poetical Calendar, 1763, vol. viii., is attributed to King 
Charles I. ; being reprinted &om a thin 8vo, published by Nahum Tat^ 
called ** Miscellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Monti Subjects." 

Gbeat Monarch of the world, from whose power springs 
The potency and power of kings, 
Becord the royal woe my suffering sings ; 

And teach my tongue, that ever did confine 

Its faculties in truth's seraphick line, 5 

To track the treasons of thy foes and mine. 

Nature and law, by thy divine decree, 
(The only root of righteous royaltie) 
With this dim diadem invested me ; 

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe, 10 

The holy imction and the royal globe : 
Yet am I levelled with the life of Job. 

The fiercest furies that do daily tread 

Upon my grief, my grey discrovmed head. 

Are those that owe my bounty for their bread. 15 

They raise a war, and christen it the oausb, 
While sacrilegious hands have best applause, 
Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws ; 

Tyranny bears the title of taxation, 

Bevenge and robbery are reformation, 20 

Oppression gains the name of sequestration. 

My loyal subjects, who in this bad season 
Attend me (by the law of God and reason,) 
They dare impeach and punish for high treason. 

Next at the clergy do their furies frown, 25 

Pious episcopacy must go down. 

They will destroy the crosier and the crown. 

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are fireed, 

Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed, 

The crown is crucified with the creed. 30 



TEBSES BT KING CHABLS8 I. 41 

The ohmch of England doth all factions foster, 
The pnlpit is usnrpt by each impostor, 
Eaiempore excludes the Paternoster. 

The Presbyter and Independent seed 

Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed 35 

Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed. 

The comer stone's misplaced by every payier ; 
With such a bloody method and behayiour 
Their ancestors did crucifie oui* Sayiour. 

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb 40 

So many princes legally have come. 
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb. 

Great Britain's heir is forced into France, 

Whilst on his father's head his foes advance : 

Poor child I he weeps out his inheritance. 45 

With my own power my majesty they wound, 
In the ^ng's name the king himself s uncrowned : 
So doth the dust destroy the diamond. 

With propositions daily they enchant 

My people's ears, such as do reason daunt, 50 

And the Almighty will not let me grant. 

They promise to erect my royal stem, 
To ma^e me great, t' advance my diadem 
If I will first fall down, and worship them ! 

But for refusal they devour my thrones, 55 

Distress my children, and destroy my bones ; 
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones. 

My life they prize at such a slender rate 

That in my absence they draw bills of hate. 

To prove the king a trajtor to the state. 60 

Felons obtain more privilege than I : 
They are allow'd to answer ere they die ; 
'Tis death for me to ask the reason why. 

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo 

Thee to forgive and not be bitter to 66 

Such as thou know'st do not know what they do. 



48 THX 8AL£ OF 

For sinoe ihey from their Lord are so disjointed. 
As to contemn those edicts he appointed, 
How can they prize the power of his anointed ? 

Augment my patience, nnlMe my hate, 70 

Pr^rre my issue, and inspire my mate; 

Tet, though we perish, bless this ohuboh and state. 



XIV. 
^t dale of ViAtUiova l^ovats^^oXti dtuff. 

This Barcastio exultation of triumphant loyalty is printed from an old 
bla(^-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, corrected by two others, one 
of which is preserved in ** A choice collection of 120 loyal songs," &c. 
1684, 12mo.— To the tune of Old Simon the king, 

Eebellion hath broken up house, 

And hath left me old lumber to sell ; 
Come hither and take your choice, 

1*11 promise to use you well. 
Will you buy the old speaker's chair ? 5 

Which was warm and easie to sit in, 
And oft hath been clean'd I declare. 

When as it was fouler than fitting. 
Says old Simon the king, &c. 

Will you buy any baoon-flitches, 10 

The fattest, that ever were spent ? 
They're the sides of the old committees^ 

Fed up in the Long Parliament 
Here's a pair of bellows and tongs, 

And for a small matter 1*11 sell ye 'nm ; 15 

They are made of the presbyters' lungs 

To blow up the coals of rebellion. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

I had thought to have given them once 

To some black-smith for his forge ; 20 

But now I have considered on't. 
They are consecrate to the church ; 



BKBKLLI0U8 ROUSE-HOLD 8TT7FV. 4h 

Bo 111 give them unto some quire^ 
They will make the big organs roar, 

And the little pipes to sqneeke higher 25 

Than ever they could before. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's a couple of stools for sale, 

One's square, and t' other is round ; 
Betwixt them both the tail 30 

Of the KuMP fell down to the ground. 
Will you buy the states council-table, 

Which was made of the good wain Scot ? 
The frame was a tottering Babel 

To uphold the Independent plot. 35 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Here's the beesom of Beformation, 

Which should have made clean the floor, 
But it swept out the wealth of the nation. 

And left us dirt good store. 40 

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel, 

Which spun for the roper's trade ? 
But better it had stood still. 

For now it has spun a fair thread. 

Says old Simon, &c. 45 

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd, 

Which was made of a butcher's stump,^ 
And has been safely apply'd 

To cure the colds of the rump. 
Here's a lump of Pilgiims-Salve, 50 

Which once was a justice of peace 
Who Noll and the Devil did serve ; 

But now it is come to this. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

Hero's a roll of the states tobacco, ^5 

If any good fellow will take it ; 

No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o, 
And I'll tell you how they did make it : 

* Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison, a batcher's son, who 
iisisted Cromwell in turning out the Long Pf^rliaQiei^t, April 20^ lG53w 
TOL. n. |( 



50 THE 8ALB OF BEBELUOUS HOUSE-HOLD STUFF. 

'Tis ih' Engagement and Covenant oookt 

Up with the Abjuration oath ; 60 

And many of them, that have took't, 

Complain it was foul in the mouth. 
Says old Simon, &c. 
Yet the ashes may happily serve 

To cure the scab of the nation, 65 

When e*er 't has an itch to swerve 

To Eebellion by innovation. 
A Lanthorn here is to be bought, 

The like was scarce ever gotten, 
For many plots it has found out 70 

Before they ever were thought on. 
Says old Simon, &c. 
Will you buy the Rump's great saddle. 

With which it jocky'd the nation? 
And here is the bitt and the bridle, 75 

And curb of Dissimulation : 
And here's the trunk-hose of the Bump, 

And their fair dissembling cloak, 
And a Presbyterian jump, 

With an Independent smock. 80 

Says old Simon, &c. 

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd. 

Which serv'd the high-court of justice. 
And stretch'd until England it mourn 'd ; 

But Hell will buy that if the worst is. 86 

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitchen-stuff tub, 

Wherein is the fat of the Bumpers, 
With which old Nolls horns she did rub. 

When he was got drunk with false bumpers. 
Says old Simon, &c. 90 

Here's the purse of the public faith ; 

Here's the model of the Sequestration, 
When the old wives upon their good troth. 

Lent thimbles to mine the nation. 

Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromweirs wife by the 
Royalists, though her name was Elizabeth. She was taxed with exchange 
ing th« kitchen-stuff for the candies used in the Protector's household, Sto* 
6«e Gent, Mag. for March, 1788, p. 242. 



VHB BAFFLED EIHGHT, OB LADT's POLICY. 61 

Here's Dick Cromweirs Protectorsliip, 95 

And here are Lambert's commissions, 

And hero is Hugh Peters his scrip 

Cramm'd with the tumultuous Petitions. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, 100 
And here are his dray, and his slings ; 

Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles, 
With diverse other odd things : 

And what is the price doth belong 

To all these matters before ye ? 105 

I'll sell them all for an old song, 

And so 1 do end my story. 
Says old Simon, &c. 

V, 94. See Grey's Hudibras, pt. i. cant. ii. v. 570, &c. 

V. 100, 102. Cromwell had in his younger years followed the brewing 
trade at Huntingdon. Col. Uewson is said to have been originally a 
eobbler. 



XV. 
C|)e SaffletK Untgi^t, or HatKp'jf $oItc^. 

Given (with some corrections) from a MS. copy, and collated with two 
printed ones in Boman character in the Pepys collection. 

Thebb was a knight was drunk with wine, 

A riding along the way, sir; 
And there he met with a lady fine, 

Among the cocks of hay, sir. 

" Shall you and I, lady faire, 6' 

Among the grass lye down-a, 
And I will have a special care 
Of rumpling of your gown-a ?" 

" Upon the grass there is a dewe 

Will spoil my damask gowne, sir ; 10 

My gowne and kirtle they are newe, 

And cost me many a crowne, sir." 

1 2 



52 THE BAFFIJCD KNiaHT, 

" 1 have a cloak of scarlet red, 

Upon the ground Til thro we it ; 
Then, lady faire, come, lay thy heftd ; 15 

We'll play, and none sluill knowe if 

*' yonder stands my steed so &ee 

Among the cocks of hay, sir ; 
And if the pinner should chance to see, 

Hell take my steed away, sir." 20 

** Upon my finger I have a ring. 

Its made of finest gold-a, 
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring 

Out of the pinner's fold-a." 

^ go with me to my father's hfJl ; 25 

Fair ehambers there are three, sir ; 
And you shall have the best of all. 

And I'll yomr chamberlaine bee, sir/' 

He mounted himself on his steed so tall, 

And her on her dapple gray, sir ; 30 

And there they rode to her father's hall. 
Fast pricking along the way, sir. 

To her father's hall they arrived strait ; 

'Twas moated round about-a ; 
She slipt herself within the gate, 85 

And lockt the knight without-a. 

** Here is a silver penny to spend. 

And take it for your pain, sir ; 
And two of my father's men I'll send 

To wait on you back again, sir." 40 

He from his scabbard drew his brand, 

And wiped it upon his sleeve-a : 
" And cursed," he said, " be every man 

That will a maid believe-a 1 " 

She drew a bodkin from her haire, 15 

And whip'd it upon her gown-a : 
* And curs'd be every maiden faire 

That inill with men lye down-a ! 



OB LADT^S POLIOT. 53 

• A herb there is, that lowly grows, 

And some do call it rue, sir ; 50 

The smallest donghill cock that crows 

Would make a capon of you, sir. 

^ A flower there is, that shineth bright^ 

Some call it mary-gold-a ; 
He that wold not when he might, 55 

He shall not when he wold-a." 

The knight was riding another day. 

With cloak and hat and feather, 
He met again with that lady gay, 

Who was angling in the river. 60 

" Now, lady faire, I've met with you, 

You shall no more escape me ; 
Bemember, how not long agoe 

You falsely did intrap me," 

The lady blushed scarlet red, 65 

And trembled at the stranger : 
^* How shall I guard my maidenhead 

From this approaching danger?'* 

He from his saddle down did light. 

In all his riche attyer, 70 

And cryed, '^ As I am a noble knight, 

I do thy charms admyer." 

He took the lady by the hand, 

Who seemingly consented ; 
And would no more disputing stand : 75 

She had a plot invented. 

" Looke yonder, good Sir Enight, I pray, 

Methinks I now discover, 
A riding upon his dapple gray, 

My former constant lover." 80 

On tip-toe peering stood the knight. 

Fast by the river's brink-a ; 
The lady pusht with all her might : 

*' Sir Emght, now swim or sii^-a." 



54 THE BAFFLED EinGHT, 

O'er head and ears he plunged in, 85 

The bottom faire he sounded ; 
Then rising up, he cried amain, 

" Help, helpe, or else I m drownded !" 

** Now, faro-you-well, Sir Enight, adieu t 

You see what comes of fooling ; 90 

That is the fittest place for you ; 
Your courage wanted cooling." 

Ere many days, in her father's park, 

Just at the close of eve-a 
Again she met with her angry sparke ; \^5 

Which made this lady grieve-a. 

" False lady, here thou'rt in my powre, 

And no one now can hear thee ; 
And thou shalt sorely rue the hour 

That e'er thou dar'dst to jeer me. 100 

" I pray, Sir Knight, be not so warm 

With a young silly maid-a ; 
I vow and swear I thought no harm : 

'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a." 

" A gentle jest, in soothe," he cryd, 105 

" To tumble me in and leave me I 
What if I had in the river dy'd ? 

That fetch will not deceive me. 

^ Once more 1*11 pardon thee this day, 

Tho' injur'd out of measure ; 110 

But then prepare without delay 

To yield thee to my pleasure." 

•* Well then, if I must grant your suit, 
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir : 

Let me pull off both spur and boot, 115 

Or else you cannot stir, sir." 

He set him down upon the grass 

And begged her kind assistance ; 
• Now," smiling thought this lovely lass, 

*^ I'll make you keep your distance," 120 



OB lady's policy. 65 

Tlien pnlling off his boots half- way : 

" Sir Knight, now I'm your betters ; 
You shall not make of me your prey ; 

Sit there like a knave in fetters." 

The knight when she had served soe, 125 

He fretted, fum'd, and grumbled ; 
For he could neither stand nor goe, 

But like a cripple tumbled. 

" Farewell, Sir Knight, the clock strikes ten, 
Yet do not move nor stir, sir ; 130 

111 send you my father's serving men 
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir. 

" This merry jest you must excuse, 

You are but a stingless nettle ; 
You'd never have stood for boots and shoes, 135 

Had you been a man of mettle." 

All night in grievous rage he lay, 

Boiling upon the plain-a ; 
Next morning a shepherd past that way, 

Who set hrm right again-a. 140 

Then mounting upon his steed so tall, 

By hill and dale he swore-a : 
" I'U ride at once to her father's hall ; 

She shall escape no more-a. 

*« 111 take her father by the beard ; 145 

I'll challenge all her kindred ; 
Each dastard soul shall stand affeard ; 

My wrath shall no more be hindred." 

He rode unto her father's house, 

Which every side was moated ; 160 

The lady heard his furious vows. 

And all his vengeance noted. ^ 

Thought shee, " Sir Knight, to quench your rage, 

Once more I will endeavour ; 
This water shall your fury 'swage, 166 

Or else it shill burn for ever." 



56 WHY 80 PALI? 

Then faining penitence and feare, 

Slie did inyite a parley : 
" Sir Knight, if you'll forgive me heare. 

Henceforth I'll love you dearly. 160 

" My fSather he is now from home, 

And I am all alone, sir ; 
Therefore a-cross the water come ; 

And I am all your own, sir." 

" False maid, thou canst no more deceive ; 165 

I scorn the treacherous hait-a ; 
If thou would'st have me thee believe, 

Now open me the gate-a." 

" The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr'd ; 

My father he has the keys, sir ; 170 

But I have for my love prepared 

A shorter way and easier. 

" Over the moate I've laid a plank 

Full seventeen feet in measure ; 
Then step across to the other bank, 176 

And there we'll take our pleasure." 

These words she had no sooner spoke 

But strait he came tripping over : 
The plank was saw'd, it snapping broke, 

And sous'd the unhappy lover. 180 



XVL 
Wa^v 80 Valef 

From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This sprightly knight was bom in 
1613, and cut off by a fever about the 29th year of his age.— See above, 
Bong is. of this book. 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Prethee why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prethee why so pale ? fi 



OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 57 

Why so dall and mnte, young sinner ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 
Will, when speaMng well can't win her, 

Saying nothing doe't ? 

Prethee why so mute ? 10 

Quit, quit for shame ; this will not move, 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her. 

The devil take her I 15 



XVIL 
(BXti Com of Setflam. 

HAD SONQ THB FIBST. 

It is worth attention, that the English have more songs and ballads on 
the subject of madness, than any of their neighbours. Whether there 
be any truth in the insinuation, that we are more liable to this calamity 
than other nations, or that our native gloominess hath peculiarly re- 
commended subjects of this cast to our writers, we certainly do not find 
the same in the printed collections of French, Italian songs, &c 

Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected half a dozen mad 
SOHOS for these volimies. The tluree first are original in their respective 
kinds : the merit of the three last is chiefiy that of imitation. ' They 
were written at considerable intervals of time ; but we have here grouped 
them together, that the reader may the better examine their comparative 
merits. He may consider them as so many trials of skill in a peculiar 
subject, as the contest of so many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. 
The two first were probably written about the beginning of the last 
century ; the third about the middle of it ; the fourth and sixth towards 
the end ; and the fifth within the eighteenth century. 

This is given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three 
old printed copies.— With regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in 
Walton's Complete Angler^ cap. 3, is a song in praise of angling, which 
the author says was made at his request ** by Mr. William Basse, one 
that has made the choice songs of the HurUer in his Career, and of Tom 
•/ Bedlarn0 and many others of note, " p. 84. — See Sir John Hawkins'i 
•urious e<Uti(Hi, 8yo, of that excellent old book. 



68 OLD TOM OF BEDLAM. 

Forth from my sad and darksome eel]. 
Or from the deepe abysse of hell, 
Mad Tom is come into the world againe 
To see if he can cure his distempered braine. 

Feares and cares oppresse my soule ; 5 

Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle I 
Pluto laughes, and Proserpine is gladd 
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd. 

Through the world I wander night and day 

To seeke my straggling senses ; 10 

In angrye moode I mett old Time, 
With his pentarchye of tenses. 

When me he spyed, 

Away he hyed, 
For time will stay for no man ; 15 

In vaine with cryes 

I rent the skyes, 
For pity is not common. 

Cold and comfortless I lye. 

Helpe, oh helpe I or else I dye. 20 

Harke I I heare Apollo's teame, 

The carman 'gins to whistle ; 
Chast Diana bends her bo we, 

The boare begins to bristle. 

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 25 

To knocke off my troublesome shackles I 
Bid Charles make ready his waine 
To fetch me my senses againe. 

Last night I heard the dog-star bark, 
Mars met Venus in the darke ; 80 

Ximping Vulcan het an iron barr. 
And fonouslye made at the god of war. 

Mars with his weapon laid about, 
But Vulcan's temples had the gout, 
For his broad horns did so hang in his light 85 

He could not see to aim his bio wes aright: 



THE DISTBAOTED PT7BITAK. 69 

Mercurye, the nimble post of heaven. 

Stood still to see the quarrell ; 
Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like, 

Bestrjd a strong-beere barrell. 40 

To mee he dranke, 

I did him thanke, 
But I could get no cyder ; 

He dranke whole butts 

Till he burst his gutts ; 45 

But mine were ne'er the wyder. 

Poor naked Tom is very drye ; 
A little drinke, for charitye ! 
Harke I I hear Acteon*s home. 

The huntsmen whoop and hallowe ; 50 

Bingwood, Eoyster, Bowman, Jowler, 
All the chase do followe. 

The man in the moone drinkes clarret, 

Eates powder'd beef, turnip and carret ; 

But a cup of old Malaga sack 56 

Will fire the bushe at his backe. 



xvni. 

C|)t Suftractetf puritan, 

MAD BONO THE SECOND, 

was written about the begnning of the seventeenth century by the 
witty Bishop Corbet, and is printed from the third edition of his Poems, 
12mo, 1672, compared with a more ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS. 

Am I mad, O noble Festus, 
When zeal and godly knowledge 
Have put me in hope 
To deal with the Pope 

As well as the best in the college ? 5 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a surplice, 
Hitres, copes, and rochets 1 



60 THE DISTBAOTSD PUBITAK. 

Oome bear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets. 

In the house of pure Emanuel ^ 10 

I had my education, 

Where my friends surmise 

I dazel'd my eyes 
With the sight of revelation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

They bound me like a bedlam, 15 

They lash'd my four poor quarters. 

Whilst this I endure. 

Faith makes me sure 
To be one of Foxes martyrs. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

These injuries I suffer 20 

Through antichrist's perswasion. 

Take off this chain ! 

Neither Bome nor Spain 

Can resist my strong invasion. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

Of the beast's ten horns (God bless us I) . 25 

I have knock'd off three already ; 

If they let me alone 

I'll leave him none ; 
But they say I am too heady. 
Boldly I preach, &o. 

When I sack'd the seven-hill'd city 30 

I met the great red dragon ; 

I kept him aloof 

With the armour of proof, 
Though here I have never a rag on, 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

With a fiery sword and target, 35 

There fought I with this monster ; 

Emanuel College, (^•ambridge, was originally a seminar/ of Paritani. 



THB DISTRACTED PUBITAIT. 61 

But the sons of pride 
My zeal deride, 
And nil my deeds misconster. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I un-hors*d the Whore of Babel 40 

With the lance of Inspiration ; 

I made her stink, 

And spill the drink 
In her cup of abomination. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I have seen two in a vision 45 

With a flying book ^ between them. 

I have been in despair 

Five times in a year, 
And been cur'd by reading Greenham.* 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

I obserVd in Perkins' tables * 50 

The black line of damnation ; 

Those crooked veins 

So stuck in my brains, 
That I fear'd my reprobation. 
Boldly I preach, &c. 

In the holy tongue of Canaan 55 

I plac'd my chiefest pleasure, 

Till I prick'd my foot 

With an Hebrew root 
That I bled beyond all measure. 

Boldly I preach, &c. 

• AUading to some visionary exposition of Zech. ch. v. ver. 1 ; or, if 
the date of this song would permit, one might suppose it aimed at one 
(oppe, a strange enthusiast, whose life may be seen in Wood's Athen. 
vol. ii. p. 501. He was author of a book entitled ITie Fiery Flying Boil; 
and afterwards published a recantation, part of whose title is, The Fiery 
Flyim Boll's Wings dipt, ^c. 

' See Greenham's Works, fol. 1605, particularly the tract entitled 
A sweet Comfort for an Afflicted Conscience. 

* See Perkins's Works, fol. 1616, vol. i. p. 11; where is a large half 
sheet folded, containing, " A survey, or table, declaring the order of the 
onuses of salvation and damnation, &c.,'' the pedigree of damnation being 
distinguished by a broad black zig-zag line. 



62 THE LUNATIO LOYEB. 

I appeared before the Archbishop • 6(t 

And all the high Commission ; 
I gave him no grace, 
But told him to his face 
That he fayoor'd saperstition. 

Boldly I preach, hate a cross, hate a soiplice, 65 

Mitres, copes, and rochets I 
Gome hear me pray nine times a day, 
And fill your heads with crotchets, 

' Abq. Laad. 



XIX. 

ICfyt lunatic lobtt, 

MAD SONQ THE THIBD, 

ii given from an old printed copy ia the British Museuni) sompared 
with another in the Pepys Collection : both in black-letter. 

Gbim king of the ghosts, make haste, 

And bring hither all your train ; 
See how the pale moon does waste, 

And just now is in the wane. 
Come, you night-hags, with all your charms, 5 

And revelling witches away. 
And hug me close in your arms ; 

To you my respects I'll pay. 

I'll court you and think you fair. 

Since love does distract my brain ; 10 

111 go, I'll wed the night-mare. 

And kiss her, and kiss her again ; 
But if she prove peevish and proud. 

Then, a pise on her love, let her go ! 
m seek me a winding shroud, 16 

And down to the shades below. 



TEE IX!XASK liCnSL 13 

A hnmrr sad I oidizreL 

Snk£)£: icbsoCl depKTtg '^^i^T^ 
I call 'k* iLoM- bugg ^or « ««tc^ 

Ab kac-^ing 1K4 wiatt I sfeT* ^ 

The beixij. wbom I do mdan^ 

S€fw cHp^tg me wrdi soori and ^KfiAiim ; 
I never fiuill see ber more: 

All ! 1k#t ckall I bear m J pim t 

I mnUe aoii n&ge abool dft 

To find oxt ID J ckanmi^ sunt ; 
WfaHe &l»& «t IDT grief dcies floaty 

And axakm Mt mj lood eomplamt 
jyistnyciifjii I aee ia mj doom. 

Of thiB I am now too sure ; SO 

A nTal is got in mj room 

While torments I do endnro. 

Strange fancies do fill my head ; 

While wandering in despair 
I am to the desarts lead, 35 

Expecting to find her there. 
If ethmks in a spangled cloud 

I see h^ enthroned on high ; 
Then to her I crie aloud, 

And hibour to reach the sky. 40 

When thus I have raved awhilo 

And wearyed myself in vain, 
I lye on the barren soil 

And bitterly do complain. 
Till slumber bath quieted me 45 

In sorrow I sigh and weep ; 
The clouds are my canopy 

To cover me while I sleep. 

I dream that my charming fair 

Is then in my rival's bed, 50 

Whose tresses of golden hair 

Are on the fair pillow bespread. 



64 THS LADT DISTRAOTKD WITH LOTS. 

Then this doth my passion inflame : 

I start, and no longer can lie : 
Ah ! Sylvia, art thon not to blame 65 

To ruin a lover ? I cry. 

Grim king of the ghosts, be true, 

And hnrry me hence away ; 
My languishing life to you 

A tribute I freely pay. 60 

To the Elysian shades I post 

In hopes to be freed from care, 
Where many a bleeding ghost 

Is hovering in the air. 



XX. 

MAD SONG THE FOURTH, 

was orignally sung in one of Tom D*Urfey*8 comedies of Don Quixote, 
acted in 1694 and 1696 ; and probably composed by himself. In the 
several stanzas, the author represents his pretty Mad-woman as, 1, 
sullenly mad; 2, mirthfully mad; 3, melancholy mad; 4, fantastic- 
ally mad ; and 5, stark mad. But this and No. xxii. are printed &om 
D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy , 1719, vol. i. 

Fbom rosie bowers where sleeps the god of love, 

Hither, ye little wanton cupids, fly ; 
Teach mo in soft melodious strains to move 

With tender passion my heart's darling joy ! 
Ah I let the soul of musick tune my voice 6 

To win dear Strephon, who my soul enjoys. 

Or, if more influencing 

Is to be brisk and airy, 
With a step and a bound, 
With a frisk fr'om the ground, 10 

m trip like any fai y. 



TH£ DISTRACTED LOYRB. 65 

As once on Ida dancing 

Were three celestial bodies, 
With an air and a face, 
And a shape and a grace, 15 

I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. 

Ah ! 'tis in vain 1 'tis all, 'tis all in vain ! 
Death and despair must end the fatal pain : 
Cold, cold despair, disguis'd like snow and rain, 
Falls on my breast ; bleak winds in tempests blow ; 20 
My veins all shiver and my fingers glow ; 
My pulse beats a dead march for lost repose, 
ind to a solid lump of ice my poor fond heart is froze. 

Or say, ye powers, my peace to crown, 

Shall I thaw myself and drown 25 

Among the foaming billows ? 
Increasing all with tears I shed. 

On beds of ooze and crystal pillows, 
Lay down, lay down my love-sick head? 

No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad ! 80 

That soon my heart will warm ; 
When once the sense is fled, is fled, 

Love has no power to charm, 
Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly, 

Eobes, locks — shall thus — ^be tore ! 35 

A thousand, thousand times I'll dye 
Ere thus, thus, in v(dn, — ere thus in vain i^ore. 



XXI. 

Wt^t Bfetractetf iohtt, 

MAD SONG THE FIFTH, 

was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated composer of music at the 
beginning of the eighteenth century, and author of several littl« 
tneatrical Entertainments, which the reader may find enumerated in 
the Ckmpanion to the Flay-house, &o. The sprightliness, of this songster's 
VOL. n. V 



66 THE DISTBAOTED LOYEB. 

fancy oould not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, 
which was effected hy his own hand. In his Poems, 4to, Lond., 1729, 
may be seen another Mad Song of this author, beginning thus : 

" Gods 1 I can never this endure, 
Death alone must be my cure," &c. 

I 00 to the Elysian shade 

Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me ; 

Where nothing shall my rest invade, 
But joy shall still surround me. 

I fly from Celia's cold disdain, 5 

From her disdain I fly ; 
She is the cause of all my pain, 

For her alone I die. 

Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun, 

When he but half his radiant course has run, 10 

When his meridian glories gaily shine 

And gild all nature with a warmth divine. 

See yonder river's flowing tide. 

Which now so fall appears : 
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide, 15 

Are nothing but my tears. 

There I have wept till I could weep no more, 

And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store ; 

Then, like the clouds that rob the azure main, 

Fve drain'd the flood to weep it back again. 20 

Pity my pains. 

Ye gentle swains ! 
Cover me with ice and snow, 
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow I 

Furies, tear me, 25 

Quickly bear me 
To the dismal shades below I 

Where yelling and howling. 

And grumbling and growling 
Strike the ear with horrid woe. 8( 



THE FBANTIO LADY. 67 

Hissing snakes, 

Fiery lakes 
Would be a pleasure and a core. 

Not all the hells, 

Where Pluto dwells, 35 

Can give such pain as I endure. 

To some peaceful plain convey me. 

On a mossy carpet lay me, 

Fan me with ambrosial breeze, 

Let me die, and so have ease I 40 



xxn. 

C|)e jffvantic latfg. 

MAD SONG THB SIXTH. 

This, like Number xx., was originally sung in one of DTJrfey'B Comedies 
of Don Quixote (first acted about the year 1694), and was probably 
composed by that populHr songster, who died Feb. 26, 1723. 

This is printed in the " Hive, a Collection of Songs,** 4 vols., 1721, 
12mo, where may be found two or three other Mad Songs not admitted 
into these volumes. 

I BUBN, my brain consumes to ashes ! 
Each eye-ball too like lightning flashes I 
Within my breast there glows a solid fire. 
Which in a thousand ages can't expire I 

Blow, blow, the winds' great ruler I 5 

Bring the Po and the Ganges hither, 
'Tis sultry weather; 
Pour them all on my soul. 
It will hiss like a coal, 
But be never the cooler. 10 

'Twas pride, hot as hell. 

That first made me rebell ; 
From love's awful throne a curst angel I fell. 

And mourn now my fate. 

Which myself did create : 15 

Fool, fool, that Gonsidcr'd not when I was well t 

F 2 



68 LILLI BUBLEBO. 

Adieu I ye yam transporting joys ! 

Off ye vain fantastic toys I 
That dress this face — this body — to allure 1 

Bring me daggers, poison, fire I 20 

Since scorn is tum'd into desire. 
All hell feels not the rage which I, poor I, endure. 



xxni. 

Stat Stttlero. 

The following rhymes, slight and insigmficant as they may now seem, 
had once a more powerful effect than either the Philippics of Demos- 
thenes or Cicero, and contributed not a little towards the great revolution 
in 1688. Let us hear a contemporary writer. 

** A foolish ballad was made at tliat time, treating the Papists, and 
chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, whicli had a burden said 
to be Irish words, * Lero, lero, lilliburlero/ that made an impression on 
the [king's] army, tl/at cannot be imagined by those that saw it not. 
Tlie whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country, were 
singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great 
an effect." — Burnet. 

It was written, or at least republished, on the Earl of Tyrconners going 
a second time to Ireland in October, 1688. Perhaps it is unnecessary to 
mention, that General Richard Talbot, newly created Earl of Tyroonnel, 
had been nominated by King James II. to the lieutenancy of Ireland in 
1686, on account of his being a furious papist, who had recommended 
himself to his bigoted master by his arbitrary treatment of the 
Protestants in the preceding year, when only lieutenant-general, and 
whose subsequent conduct fully justified his expectations and their fears. 
The violence of his administration may be seen in any of the histories 
of those times : particularly in Bishop King's *' State of the Protestants 
in Ireland," 1691, 4to. 

LiUiburlero and BuUen-a-lah are said to have been the words of dis- 
tinction used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestants 
to 1641. 

Ho 1 brodor Teague, dost hear de decree ? 

Lilli bnrlero, boUen a-la. 
Dat we shall have a new deputie, 
Lilli borlero, bullen a-la. 
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la, 6 
Lero lore, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la. 



LILLl BTJBLEBO. 69 

Ho I by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote : 

Lilli, &c. 
And he will cut all de English troate. 

Lilli, &c. 10 

Dough by my shoal de English do praat, 

Lilli, &c. 
De law's on dare side, and Creish knows what 

Lilli, &c. 

But if dispence do come from de Pope, 15 

Lilli, &c. 
Well hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope. 

Lilli, &c. 

For de good Talbot is made a lord, 

Lilli, &c. 20 

And with brave lads is coming aboard : 

Lilli, &c. 

Who all in France have taken a sware, 

Lilli, &c. 
Dat dey will have no protestant heir. 25 

Lilli, &c. 

Ara I but why does he stay behind ? 

Lilli, &c. 
Ho 1 by my shoal 'tis a protestant wind. 

Lilli, &c. 30 

But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore, 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have commissions gillore. 

Lilli, &c. 

And he dat will not go to de mass, 35 

Lilli, &c. 
Shall be turn oat, and look like an ass. 

Lilli, &c. 

Now, now de hereticks all go down, 

LiUi, &c. ^ iO 

By Chrish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own. 

Lilli, &c. 

Yer. 7, Ho by my sKoqL aL e<L 



70 THE BBAE8 OF TARBOW. 

Dare was an old prophesy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c. 
*' Ireland sliall be rol'd by an ass and a dog." 45 

Lilli, &c. 

And now dis prophesy is come to pass, 

Lilli, &c. 
For Talbot's de dog, and Ja**s is de ass. 

LHli, &c. 50 

*^* The foregoing song is attributed to Lord Wbarton in a small 
pamphlet, entitled, ** A true relation of the several facts and circum- 
stances of the intended riot and tumult on Qaeen Elizabeth's birth- 
day " &c. Third edition, London, 1712. price 2d. See p. 5, viz. ** A late 
Viceroy [of Ireland], who has so often boasted himself upon his talent 
for mischief, invention, lying, and for making a certain LiUtburlePo 
Song ; with which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Prince 
out of three Kingdoms." 

v. 43. What follows is not in some copies. 



XXIV. 
d^e Sraif( of l^arrolOy 

IN nflTATION OF THE ANCIENT POOTS KANNEB, 

was written by WilUam Hamilton, of Bangour, Esq., who died March 
25, 1754, aged 50. It is printed from an elegant edition of his Poems, 
published at Edinburgh. 1760, 12mo. This song was written in imitation 
of an old Scottish ballad on a similar subject, wi^ the same burden to 
each stanza. 

A, " Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride. 

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride. 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow." 

B. " Where gat ye that bonny, bonny bride ? 6 

Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? " 
A. *' I gat her where I dare na weil be seen 
Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 



THE BBAES OF TASBOW. 71 

•* Weep not, weep not, my bonny, bonny bride, 

Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; 10 

Nor let thy heart lament to leive 

Puing tiie bilks on the Brnes of Yarrow." 

B. " Why does she weep, thy bonny, bonny bride ? 
Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? 
And why dare ye nae mair'weil be seen 15 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ? ** 

A, '* LaDg maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, 
Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow ; 
And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen 

Puing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow ? 20 

" For she has tint her luver, luver dear. 

Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow ; 
And I hae slain the comliest swain 

That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 

" Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid ? 25 

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow ? 

And why yon melancholious weids 
Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? 

" What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flude ? 

What's yonder floats ? O dule and sorrow I 80 

O *tis he, the comely swain I slew 

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 

" Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, 
His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow ; 

And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 85 

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 

" Tben build, then build, ye sisters, sistei*s sad. 

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow ; 
And weep around in waeful wise 

His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. 40 

'* Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield. 
My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, 

The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast, 

His comely breast on the Braes of Yarrow. 



72 THE BBAES OF TABBOW. 

*' Did I not warn thee not to, not to lave ? 45 

And warn from light ? but to my sorrow 

Too rashly bauld a stronger arm 
Thou mett'st, and fell'st on the Braes of Yarrow. 

** Sweet smells the birk ; green grows, green groi^ 
the grass; 

Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan ; 50 

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock ; 

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 

** Flows Yarrow sweet ? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, 

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, 
As sweet smells on its braes the birk, 55 

The apple frae its rock as mellow ? 

" Fair was thy Inve, fair, fair indeed thy luve, 

In flow'ry bands tiion didst him fetter ; 
Tho' he was fedr, and weil belav'd again 

Than me, he never InVd thee better. 60 

" Busk ye, then bnsk, my bonny, bonny bride. 
Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; 

Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, 
And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow." 

C " How can I busk a bonny, bonny bride ? 65 

How can 1 busk a winsome marrow ? 
How luve him upon the banks of Tweed 
That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow ? 

** O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain 

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, 70 

For there was basely slain my luve. 

My luve, as he had not been a lover. 

" The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 

His purple vest, 'twas my awn sewing : 
Ah I wretched me ! I little, little kenn'd 75 

He was in these to meet his ruin. 

" The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, 

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow ; 
But ere the toofall of the night 

He lay a corps on the Braes of Yarrow. 80 



THE BBABS OF YABBOW. 78 

* Much I rejoyc d that waeful, waefol day ; 

I sang, my voice the woods returning r 
Bat lang ere night the spear was flown 

That slew my luve, and left me mourning. 

** nhat can my barbarous, barbarous father do 85 

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? 
My lover's blood is on thy spear, 

How canst thou, barbarous man, then wooe mo ? 

" My happy sisters may be, may be proud 

With cruel and ungentle scoffin', 90 

May bid me seek on Yarrow's Braes 

My lover nailed in his coffin. 

" My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid. 
And strive with threatning words to muve me ; 

My luver's blood is on thy spear, 96 

How canst thou ever bid me luve thee ? 

** Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 

With bridal sheets my body cover, 
Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 

Let in the expected husband-lover. 100 

^ But who the expected husband, husband is ! 

His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter : 
Ah me ! what ghastly spectre's yon 

Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after ? 

" Pale as he is here lay him, lay him down, 106 

O lay his cold head on my pillow ; 
Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, 

And crown my careful head with willow. 

" Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv*d, 

O could my warm& to life restore thee I 110 

Yet lye all night between my breists ; 
No youth lay ever there before thee. 

" Pale, pale indeed, O luvely, luvely youth I 

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter ; 
And lye all night between my breists ; 115 

No youth shall ever lye there after." 



74 ADHIBiL hosier's GHOST. 

A, " Eetum, return, moumfal, monnifnl bride, 
Betum, and dry thy useless sorrow ; 
Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs : 

He lyes a corps in the Braes of Yarrow." 120 



XXV. 

atfmiral floiEtur'f^ &^osit 

was a party song written by the ingenious author of Leonidas,^ on the 
taking of Porto Bello from the Spaniards by Admiral Vernon, Nov. 22, 
1789. The case of Hosier, which is here so pathetically represented, was 
briefly this. In April, 1726, that communder was sent with a strong 
fleet into the Spanish West Indies, to block up the galleons in the 
ports of that country ; or, should they presume to come out, to seize and 
carry them into England : he accordingly arrived at the Babtimentos, 
near Porto Bello, but being employed rather to overawe than to attack 
the Spaniards, with whom it was probably not our interest to go to war 
he continued long inactive on that station, to his own great regret. He 
afterwards removed to Carthagena, and remained cruising in these seas 
till far the greater part of his men perished deplorably by the diseases 
of that unhealthy climate. This brave man, seeing his bet^t oflScers and 
men thus daily swept away, his ships exposed to inevitable destruction, 
and himself made the sport of the enemy, is said to have died of a 
broken heart. Such is the account of Smollett, compared with that of 
other less partial writers. 

The following song is commonly accompanied with a Second Part, or 
Answer, which being of inferior merit, and apparently written by 
another hand, hath been rejected. 

As near Porto-Bello lying 

On the gently swelling flood, 

At midnight with streamers flying 

Our triumphant navy rode ; 
There while Vernon sate all-glorious 5 

From the Spaniards' late defeat, 
And his crews, with shouts victorious. 

Drank success to England's fleet, 

* An iDgenioos correspondent informs the Editor, that this ballad hath 
*]&o been attributed to the late Lord Bath. 



ADMIBAL hosier's GHOST, 75 

On a sadden shrilly sounding, 

Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; 10 

Then each heart with fear confounding 

A sad troop of ghosts appeared, 
All in dreary hammocks shrouded, 

Which for winding-sheets they wore, 
And with looks by sorrow clouded 16 

Frowning on that hostile shore. 

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, 

When tihie shade of Hosier brave 
His pale bands was seen to muster 

Eising from their wat'ry grave. 20 

O'er the glimmering wave he hy'd him 

Where the Burford ^ rear'd her sail, 
With three thousand ghosts beside him. 

And in groans did Yemon hail. 

" Heed, oh heed our fatal story, 25 

I am Hosier's injur'd ghost, 
You who now have purchased glory 

At this place where I was lost ! 
Tho' in Porto Bello's ruin 

You now triumph free from fears, 80 

When you think on our undoing 

You will mix your joy with tears. 

'' See these mournful spectres sweeping 

Ghastly o'er this hated wave. 
Whose wan cheeks are *stain'd with weeping . 35 

These were English captains brave, 
Mark those numbers pale and horrid i 

Those were once my sailors bold. 
Lo, each hangs his drooping forehead 

While his dismal tale is told. 40 

" I, by twenty sail attended. 

Did this Spanish town afi&ight ; 
Nothing then its wealth defended 

But my orders not to fight. 

' Admiral Vernon's sUp. 



76 AIiMJKAL HOSIEB's OHOST. 

Oh ! that in this rolling ocean 45 

I had oast them with disdain, 
And obey'd my heart's warm motion 

To have quell'd the pride of Spain I 

'* For resistance I could fear none, 

Bat with twenty ships have done 50 

What thou, brave and happy Yemon, 

Hast atchiev'd with six alone. 
Then the bastimentos never 

Had our foul dishonour seen, 
Nor the sea the sad receiver 55 

Of this gallant train had been. 

*' Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, 

And her galleons leading home. 
Though condemned for disobeying 

I had met a traitor's doom ; 60 

To have fallen, my country crying 

* He has play'd an English part,' 
Had been better far than dying 

Of a griev'd and broken heart. 

" Unrepining at thy glory, 65 

Thy successful arms we hail ; 
But remember our sad story, 

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. 
Sent in this foul clime to hmguish, 

Think what thousands fell in vain, 70 

Wasted with disease and anguish. 

Not in glorious battle slam. 

** Hence with all my train attending 

From their oozy tombs below. 
Thro' the hoary foam ascending, 75 

Here I feed my constant woe ; 
Here the bastimentos viewing 

We recal our shameful doom, 
And our plaintive cries renewing 

Wander thro' the midnight gloom. 80 



JEMlfT DAWSON. 77 

•* O'er these waves for ever mourning 

Shall we roam deprived of rest, 
If to Britain's shores returning 

You neglect my just request : 
After this proud foe subduing, 85 

When your patriot friends you see, 
Think on vengeance for my ruin, 

And for England sham'd in me." 



XXVI. 

James Dawson was one of the Manchester rebels, who was hanged, 
drawn, and quartered on Kennington-common, in the oounty of Surrey, 
July 30, 1746. — This ballad is founded on a remarkable fact, which was 
reported to have happened at his execution. It was written by the 
late William Shenstone, Esq., soon after the event, and has been printed 
amongst his posthumous works, 2 vols. Svo. It is here given from a MS. 
which contained some small variations from that print^ copy. 

Come listen to my mournful tale. 
Ye tender hearts, and lovers dear ; 

Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh. 
Nor will you blush to shed a tear. 

And thou, dear Eitty, peerless maid, 6 

Do thou a pensive ear incline ; 
For thou canst weep at every woe. 

And pity every plaint, but mine. 

Young Dawson was a gallant youth, 

A brighter never trod the plain ; 10 

And well he lov'd one charming maid, 

And dearly was he lov'd again. 

One tender maid she loVd him dear, 

Of gentle blood the damsel came. 
And faultless was her beauteous form, 15 

And Bpotless was her virgin fame. 



78 JEMMY DAWSOK. 

But corse on party's Hateful strife 

That led the faithful youth astray 
The day the rebel clans appeared : 

O had he never seen that day I 20 

Their colours and their sash he wore, 

And in the f&tal dress was found ; 
And now he must that death endure, 

Which gives the brave the keenest wound« 

How pale was then his true love's cheek, 2S 

When Jemmy's sentence reach'd her ear I 

For never yet did Alpine snows 
So pale, nor yet so chill appear. 

With faltering voice she weeping said, 

" Oh Dawson, monarch of my heart, 30 

Think not thy death shall end our loves, 

For thou and I will never part. 

** Yet might sweet mercy find a place. 

And bring relief to Jemmy's woes ; 
O Gbobge, without a prayer for thee 35 

My orisons should never close. 

" The gracious prince that gives him life 

Would crown a never-dying flame. 
And every tender babe I bore 

Should learn to lisp the giver's name. 40 

" But though, dear youth, thou should'st be dragg'd 

To yonder ignominious tree. 
Thou shalt not want a faithful friend 

To share thy bitter fate with thee." 

O then her mourning-coach was called, 46 

The sledge mov'd slowly on before ; 
Tho' borne in a triumphal car, 

She had not lov'd her favourite more. 

She foUow'd him, prepared to view 

The terrible behests of law ; 6C 

And the last scene of Jemmy's woes 

With calm and stedfast eye she saw. 



JEMMY DAWSON. 79 

Distorted was that blooming face, 

Which she had fondly lov'd so long ; 
And stifled was that tuneful breathy 55 

Which in her praise had sweetly sung ; 

And severed was that beauteous neck, 

Bound which her arms had fondly clos'd ; 

And mangled was that beauteous breast, 

On which her lovo-sick head repos'd ; 60 

And ravish'd was that constant heart, 

She did to every heart prefer ; 
For though it could his king forget, 

'Twas true and loyal still to her. 

Amid those unrelenting flames 65 

She bore this constant heart to see ; 
But when *twas moulder'd into dust, 

" Now, now," she cried, " 1*11 follow theo." 

^* My death, my death alone can show 

The pure and lasting love I bore. 70 

Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours. 

And let us, let us weep no more." 

The dismal scene was o'er and past. 

The lover's mournful hearse retir'd ; 
The maid drew back her languid head, 75 

And sighing forth his name expir'd. 

Tho' justice ever must prevail. 

The tear my Kitty sheds is due ; 
For seldom shall she hear a tale 

Soe sad, so tender, and so true. 80 



SMD OF THE SIXTH BOOK. 



( 80 ) 



BOOK vn. 



The remaining books being chiefly devoted to romantic tmbjects, may 
not be improperly introduced with a few slight stricturos on the old 
Metrical Romances : a subject the more worthy attention, as it seems 
not to have been known to such as have written on the nature and 
origin of books of chivalry, that the first compositions of this kind were 
in verse, and usually sung to the harp. 

ON THE ANCIENT METBIOAL BOliANCES, ETC. 

I. The first attempts at composition, among all barbarous nations, 
are ever found to be poetry and song. The praises of their gods, and 
the achievements of their heroes, are usually chanted at their festival 
meetings. These are the first rudiments of history. It is in this 
manner that the savages of North America preserve the memory of past 
events ^ : and the same method is known to have prevailed among our 
Saxon ancestors, before they quitted their German forests.^ The ancient 
Britons had their Bards, and the Gothic nations their Scalds or popular 
poet8,* whose business it was to record the victories of their warriors, 
and the genealogies of their princes in a kind of narrative songs, which 
were committed to memory, and delivered down from one reciter to 
another. So long as poetry continued a distinct profession, and while 
the Bard, or Scald, was a regular and stated oflScer in the prince's court, 
these men are thought to have performed the functions of the historian 
pretty faithfully ; for though their narrations would be apt to receive 
a good deal of embellishment, they are supposed to have had at the 
bottom so much of truth as to serve for the basis of more regular annals. 
At least, succeeding historians have taken up with the relations of thcise 

1 Vide Lasiteau, Moeurs de Sauvages, t. 2. Dr. Browne's Hist, of th« 
Rise and Progress of Poetry. 

2 German! celebrant carminibus antiqnis (quod nnum apui illos memoriaa 
et aanalium genus est) Tuistonem, &c. — ^Tacit. Germ. c. 2. 

' Earth. Antiq. Dan. lib. i. cap. 10. — Wormii Liter dura Finica, td 
fioem. 



ON THE ANGUNT metbioal bomanoes, eto. 81 

Hide men, and, for want of more authentic records, have agreed to allow 
them the credit of true history.* 

After letters began to prevail, and history a£»umed a more stable 
form, by being committed to plain simple prose, these songs of the Scalds 
or Bards began to be more amusing than useful. And in proportion 
as it became their business chiefly to entertain and delight, they gave 
more and more in to embellishment, and set off their recitals with such 
marvellous fictions as were calculated to captivate gross and ignorant 
minds. Thus began stories of adventures with giants and dragons, and 
witches and enchanters, and all the monstrous extravagances of wild 
imagination, unguided by judgment, and uncorrected by art.* 

This seems to be the true origin of that species of romance which 
80 long celebrated feats of chivalry, and which, at first in metre, and 
afterwards in prose, was the entertainment of our ancestors, in common 
with their contemporaries on the Continent ; till the satire of Cervantes, 
or rather the increase of knowledge and classical literature, drove tliem 
off the stage, to make room for a more refined species of fiction, under 
the name of French Komances, copied from the Greek.** 

That our old romances of chivalry may be derived in a lineal descent 
from the ancient historical songs of the Gothic Bards and Scalds, will 
be shown below ; and indeed appears the more evident, as many of 
those songs are still preserved in the North, which exhibit all the seeds 
of chivaky before it became a solemn institution.^ Chivalry, as 
a distinct military order, conferred in the way of investiture, and 
accompanied with the solemnity of an oath, and other ceremonies," was 
of later date, and sprung out of the feudal constitution, as an elegant 
writer has clearly shown.® But the ideas of chivalry prevailed long 
before in all the Gotliic nations, and may be discovered as in embryo 
in the customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people.* 
That fondness of going in quest of adventures, that spirit of challenging 
to single combat, and that respectful complaisance shown to the 
fair sex (so different from the manners of the Greeks and Romans), 
all are of Gothic origin, and may be traced up to the earliest times 
among all the Northern nations.*® These existed long before the 
feudal ages, though they were called forth and strengthened in a pecu- 
liar manner under that constitution, and at length arrived to their 
full maturity in the times of the Crusades, so replete with romantic 
adventures.^ 

• See " Northern Antiquities, or a Description of the Manners, Customs, 
&c., of the ancient Danes and other Northern Nations, translated from the 
French of M. Mallet," 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. (vol. i. p. 49, &c.) 

» Vide infra, pp. 82, 83, &c. 

• Viz. Astraea, Cassandra, Clelia, &c. 

^ Mallet, vide Northern Antiquities, vol. i. p. 318, &c. ; vol. ii. p. 234, 
&c 

• Letters concerning Chivalry, 8vo. 1763. 

• Mallet. »• Ibid. 

• The seeds of chivalry sprung up so naturally out of the original 
■uumers and opinions of the Northern nations, that it is not credible the> 

VOL. a, • 



82 ON THE ANCIEirr 

Even the oommon arbitrsiy fictions of romance were (as is hinted 
above) most of them familiur to the ancient Scalds of the North, long 
before the time of the Crusades. They believed the exiatence of giants 
and dwarfs;^ they entertained opinionH not unlike the more modern 
notion of fairies ; ^ they were strongly possessed with the belief of spells 
and enchantment;^ and were fond of inventing combats with dragons 
and monsters.* 

The opinion therefore seems very untenable, which some learned and 
ingenious men have entertained, that the turn for chivalry, and the 
taste for that species of romantic fiction, were caught by the Spaniards 
from the Arabians or Moors after their invasion of Spain, and from 
the Spaniards transmitted to the Bards of Armorica,^ and thus difiused 



arose so late as after the establishment of the feudal system, much less 
the Crusades. Nor, again, that the Romances of Chivalry were transmitted 
to other nations, through the Spaniards, from the Moors and Arabians. 
Had this been the case, the first French Romances of Chivalry would have 
been on Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects : whereas the most ancient 
stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, 
English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne and the Paladins, 
ar of our British Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, &c., being 
evidently borrowed from the fabulous Chronicles of the supposed Arch- 
bishop Turpin, and of Jeffery of Monmouth. Not but some of the oldest 
and most popular French Romances are also on Norman subjects, as 
Richard Sans-peur, Robert le Didble, &c. ; whereas I do not recollect so 
much as one in which the scene is laid in Spain, much less among the 
Moors, or descriptive of Mahometan manners. Even in Amadis de Gaul, 
said to have been the first Romance printed in Spain, the scene is laid in 
Gaul and Britain ; and the manners are French : which plainly shows from 
what school this species of fabling was learnt and transmitted to the 
southern nations of Europe. 

* Mallet, North. Antiquities, vol. i. p. 36 ; vol. ii. passim. 

* Glaus Verel. ad Hervarer Saga, pp. 44, 45. Hickes's Thesaurus, vol. ii, 
p. 311. Northern Antiquities, vol. ii. passim. 

* North. Antiquities, vol. i. pp. 69, 374, &c. ; vol. ii. p. 216, &c. 

* Rollof s Saga. Cap. xxxv. &c. 

" It is peculiarly unfortunate that such as maintain this opinion are 
obliged to take their first step from the Moorish provinces in Spain, 
without one intermediate resting-place, to Armorica or Bretagne, the 
province in France from them most remote, not more in situation than in 
the manners, habits, and language of its Welsh inhabitants, which are 
allowed to have been derived from this island, as must have been their 
traditions, songs, and fables, — being doubtless all of Celtic origin. See 
p. 3 of the " Dissertation on the Grigin of Romantic Fiction in Europe," 
prefixed to Mr. Tbo. Warton's History of English Poetry, vol. i. 1774, 4to. 
If any pen could have supported this darling hypothesis of Dr. Warburton, 
that of this ingenious critic would have effected it. But under the 
general term Oriental, he seems to consider the ancient inhabitants of the 
north and south of Asia as having all the same manners, tradition?, and 



METBIGAL BOMANOES, ETO. 83 

through Britain, France, Italy, Germany, and the North. For it seems 
utterly incredible, that one rude people should adopt a peculiar taste 
and manner of writing or thinking from another, without borrowing 
at tiie same time any of their particular stories and fables, without 
appearing to know anything of their heroes, history, laws, and religion. 
When the Romans began to adopt and imitate the Grecian literature, 
they immediately naturalized all the Grecian fables, histories, aad 
religious stories, which became as familiar to the poets of Rome as 
of Greece itself. Whereas all the old writers of chivalry, and of that 
species of romance, whether in prose or yene, whether of the Northern 



fables ; and because the secluded people of Arabia took the lead under the 
religion and empire of Mahomet, therefore everything must be derived 
from them to the northern Asiatics in the remotest ages, &c. With as 
much reason, under the word Occidental, we might represent the early 
traditions and fables of the north and south of Europe to have been the 
same; and that the Gothic mythology of Scandinavia, the Druidic or 
Celtic of Gaul and Britain, differed not from the classic of Greece ami 
Rome. 

There is not room here for a full examination of the minuter arguments, 
or rather slight coincidences, by which our agreeable dissertator endeavours 
to maintain and defend this favourite opinion of Dr. W., who has been , 
himself so completely confuted by Mr. Tyrwhitt. — See his notes on Love's 
Lab(mr*s Lost, &c. But some of his positions it will be sufficient to 
mention : such as the referring the Gog and Magog, which our old Christian 
Bards might have had from Scripture, to the Jaguiouge and Magiouge of 
the Arabians and Persians, &c. [p. 13."]— -That " we may venture to affirm 
that this [Geoffrey of Monmouth's] Chronicle, supposed to contain the ideas 
of the Welsh Bards, entirely consists of Arabian inventions." [p. 13.]— And 
that, " as Geoffrey's History is the grand repository of the acts of Arthur, 
so a fabulous history, ascribed to Turpin, is the groundwork of all the 
chimerical legends which have been related concerning the conquests of 
Charlemagne and his twelve peers. Its subject is the expulsion of the 
Saracens from Spain ; and it is filled with fictions evidently congenial to 
those which characterize Geoffrey's History." [p. 17.] — That ^s, as he 
afterwards expresses it, "lavishly decorated by the Arabian Fablers." 
[p. 58.] — We should hardly have expected that the Arabian Fablers would 
have been lavish in decorating a history of their enemy; but what is 
singulai", as an instance and proof of this Arabian origin of the fictions of 
Turpin, a passage is quoted from his fourth chapter, which I shall beg 
leave to offer, as affording decisive evidence that they could not possibly 
be derived from a Mahometan source. Sc. " The Christians under Charle* 
magne are said to have found in Spain a golden idol, or image of Mahomet, 
as high as a bird can fly. It was framed by Mahomet himself of the 
purest metal, who, by his knowledge in necromancy, had sealed up within 
it a legion of diabolical spirits. It held in its hand a prodigious club ; anc* 
the Saracens had a prophetic tradition, that this club should fall from the 
haod of the image in that year when a certain king should be born ii 
France," &c. [Tid) p. 18, note.] 



84 ON THE ANOIKNT 

rations, or of Britain, France, and Italy, not excepting Spain itself 
appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates to tlie Mahometan 
nations. Thus with reo:ard to their religion, they constantly represent 
them as worshipping idols, as paying adoration to a golden image of 
Mahomet, or else they confound them with the ancient pagans, &c. 
And indeed in all other respects they are so grossly ignorant of the 
customs, manners, and opinions of every branch of that people, especially 
of their heroes, champions, and local stories, as almost amounts to 
a demonstration that they did not imitate them in their songs or 
romances ; for as to dragons, serpents, necromancies, &c., why should 
these be thought only derived from the Moors in Spain so late as after 
the eijj;hth century? since notions of this kind appear too familiar 
to the Northern Scalds, and enter too deeply into all northern mythology, 
to have been transmitted to the unlettered Scandinavians, from so 
'distant a country, at so late a period. If they may not be allowed 
to have brought these opinions with them in their original migrations 
from the north of Asia, they will be far more likely to have borrowed 
them from the Latin poets after the Roman conquests in Gaul, Britain, 
Germany, Ac. For I believe one may challenge the maintainers 
of this opinion to produce any Arabian poem or history that could 
possibly have been then known in Spain, which resembles the old 
Gothic romances of chivalry half so much as the Metamorphoses of 
Ovid. 

But we well know that the Scythian nations sitnate in the countries 
about Pontus, Colchis, and the Euxine Sea, were in all times infamous 
for their magic arts : and as Odin and his followers are said to have 
come precisely from those parts of Asia, we can readily account for 
the proA'alence of fictions of this sort among the Gothic nations of the 
North, without fetching them from the Moors in Spain, who for many 
centuries after their irruption, lived in a state of such constant hostility 
with the unsubdued Spanish Christians, whom they chiefly pent up 
in the mountains, as gave them no chance of learning their music, 
poetry, or stories ; and this together with the religious hatred of the 
latter for their cruel invaders, will account for the utter ignorance of 
the old Spanish romances in whatever relates to the Mahometan 
nations, although so nearly their own neighbours. 

On the other hand, from the local customs and situations, from the 
known manners and opinions of the Gothic nations in the North, we 

' The little narrative songs on Morisco subjects, which the Spaniards 
have at present in great abundance, and which they call peculiarly 
Romances, (see vol. i. book iii. no. xiv., &c.,) have nothing in common 
with their proper Romances (or Histories) of Chivalry, which they call 
Historias de Cavallerias : these are evidently imitations of the French, and 
show a great ignorance of Moorish manners: and with regard to the 
Morisco, or Song-romances, they do not seem of very great antiquity ; few 
of them appear, from their subjects, much earlier than the reduction of 
Granada, in the fifteenth century : from which period, I believe, may b« 
plainly traced, among the Spanish writers, a more perfect knowledge of 
Moorish customs, &•» 



METRICAL BOMANOKS, BTl. 85 

•an easily account for all the ideas of chivalry, and tts peculiar fictions.* 
For, not to mention their distinguished respect for the fair sex, so 
difibrent from the manners of the Mahometan nations,** their national 
and domestic history so naturally assumes all the wonders of this 
species of fabling, that almost all their historical narratives appear 
regulfir romances. One might refer, in proof of this, to the old 
northern Sagas in general ; but, to give a particular instance, it will 
be suflScient to produce the history of King Regner Lodbrog, a cele- 
brated warrior and pirate, who reigned in Denmark about the year 
800.* This hero signalized his youth by an exploit of g:allantry. A 
Swedish prince had a beautiful daughter, whom he intrusted (probably 
during some expedition) to the care of one of his officers, assigning 
a strong castle for their defence. The officer fell in love with his ward, 
and detained her in his castle, spite of all the effi)rts of her father. 
Upon t)iis he published a proclamation through all the neighbouring 
countries, that whoever would conquer the ravisher and rescue the 
lady, should have her in marriage. Of all that undertook the adventure, 
Begner alone was so happy as to achieve it : he delivered the fair 
captive, and obtained her for his prize. It happened that the name 
of this discourteous officer was Orme, which in the Islandic language, 
Bignifies serpent ; wherefore the Scalds, to give the more poetical turn 
to the adventur(^, represent the lady as detained from her father by 
a dreadful dragon, and that Regner slew the monster to set her at 
liberty. This fabulous account of the exploit is given in a poem still 
extant, which is even ascribed to Regner himself, who was a celebrated 
poet, and which records all the valiant achievements of his life.^ 

With marvellous embellishments of this kind, the Scalds early began 
to decorate their narratives : and they were the more lavish of these 
in proportion as they departed from their original institution; but it 
was a long time before they thought of delivering a set of personages 
and adventures wholly feigned. Of the great multitude of romantic 
tales still preserved in tiie librauries of the North, most of them are 
supposed to have had some foundation in truth ; and the more ancient 
they are, the more they are believed to be connected with true history.* 

It was not probably till after the historian and the bard hud been 
long disunited, that the latter ventured at pure fiction. At length, 
when their business was no longer to instruct or Inform, but merely 
to amuse, it was no longer needful for them to adhere to truth. Then 
succeeded fabulous songs and romances in verse, which for a long time 
prevailed in France and England before they had books of chivalry 
m prose. Yet in both these countries the Minstrels still retained 
so much of their original institution as frequently to make true events 
the subject of their songs ;^ and, indeed, as during the barbarous ages 

• See Northern Antiquities, passim. • Ibid. 

> Saxo Gram. pp. 152, 153. Mallet, North. Antiq. vol. i. p. 321. 
' See a translation of this poem among " Five Pieces of Runic Poetry," 
irinted for Dodsley, 1764, 8vo. 

* Vide Mallet, Northern Antiquities, passim. 

^^* Thfl Editor's MS. contains a multitude o{ poems of this latter kind. Ii 



86 OK THE ANOIBNT 

the regn^lar histories were ahnost all written in Latin by the ircnirg, 
the memory of events was preserved and propagated among the 
ignorant laity by scarce any other means than the popular songs of the 
Minstrels. 

II The inhabitants of Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, being the 
latest converts to Christianity, retained their original manners and 
opinions longer tlian the other nations of Gothic race ; and therefore 
they have preserved more of the genuine componitions of their ancient 
poi ts than ihtir southern neighbours. Hence the progress, among 
them, from poetical liistory to poetical fiction is very discernible: 
they have some old pieces that are in eftect complete romances of 
chivalry.* They have also (as hath been observed) a multitude of 
Sag .s,^ or histories on romantic subjects, containing a mixture of prose 
and verse, of various dates, some of them written since the time of the 
Crusades, « others long before: but their narratives in verse only are 
esteemed the more ancient. 

N«»w as the irruption of the Normans^ into France under Rollo did 
not take place till towards the beginning of the tenth century, at which 
time the Scaldic art was arrived to the highest perfection in RoUo's 
native country, we can easily trace the descent of the French and 
Enp:lis : romances of chivalry from the northern Sagas. That conqueror 
doubtless carried many Scald& with him from the North, who trans- 
mitted their skill to their children and successors. These, adopting 
the religion, opinions, and language of the new country, substituted 
the heroes of Christendom instead of those of their Pagan ancestors, 
and began to celebrate the feats of Charlemaf<ne, Roland, and Oliver; 
whose true history they set ofi* end embellished with the Scaldic figments 
of dwarfs, giants, dragons, and enchantments. The fiist mention we 
have in song of those heroes of chivalry is in the mouth of a Norman 
warrior sit the conquest of England;® and this circumstance alone 
would sufficiently account for the pr- pagation of this kind of romantic 
poems among the French and English. 

But this is not all ; it is very certain that both the Anglo-Saxons 
and the Franks had brought with them, at their first emigrations into 
Britain and Gaul, the same fondness for the ancient songs of their 
ancestors which prevailed among the other Gothic tribes,® and that 
all their first annals were transmitted in these popular oral poems. 
This fondness they even retained long after their conversion to Chris- 
was probably from this custom of tne mmstrels, that some of our first 
historians wrote their Chronicles in vei-se, as Robert of Gloucester, Harding, 
&c. 

* See a specimen in second vol. of Northern Antiquities, &c., p. 248, &c. 

• Eccardi Hist. Stud. Etym. 1711, p. 179, &c. Hickes's Thesaur. vol. ii. 
p. 314. 

' I. e. Northern men : being chiefly emigrants from Norway, Denmark, &o. 

• S«e the account of Tailleft-r in vol. i.. Essay, and note. 

* Ipsa CARMiNA memorise mandabaut, et prs'lia inituri decantabant; 
qua memoria iam fortium gestorum k majoribus patratorum ad imitatio* 
nem animus adderetur. — Jornandes de Qothik, 



MRTaiCAL BOMANOBS, ETC. 87 

fianity, as we learn from the examples of Charlemagne and Alfred.' 
Now Poetry, being thus the transmitter of facts, would as easily learn 
to blend them with fictions in France and England as she is known 
to have done in the North, and that much sooner, for the reasons before 
assi^^ned.^ This, together with the example and influence of the 
Normans will easily account to us why the first romances of chivalry 
that appeared both in England and France ' were composed in metre, 
as a rude kind of epic songs. In both kingdoms tales in verse were 
usually sung by minstrels to the harp on festival occasions : and doubt- 
less both nations derived their relish for this sort of entertainment 
from their Teutonic ancestors, without either of them borrowing it from 
the other. Among both people narrative songs on true or fictitious 
subjects had evidently obtained from the earliest times. But the 
profest^ed romances of chivalry seem to have been first composed in 
France, where also they had their name. 

The Ljitin tongue, as is observed by an ingenious writer,* ceased 
to be spoken in France about the ninth century, and was succeeded 
by what was called the Romance tongue, a mixture of the language 
of the Franks and bad Latin. As the songs of chivalry became the 
most popular compositions in that language, they were emphatically 
called Romans, or Romants; though this name was at &rst given 
to any piece of poetry. The romances of chivalry can be traced as 
early as the eleventh century.* I know not if the Roman de Brut, 
written in 1155, was such: but if it was, it was by no means the first 
poem of the kmd ; others more ancient are stiU extant.'' And we have 
already seen, that, in the preceding century, when the Normans 
marched down to the battle of Hastings, they animated themselves by 
singing (in some popular romance or ballad) the exploits of Roland and 
the other heroes of chivalry.^ 

* Eginhartns de Carolo Magno. <' Item barbara et antiquissima CARMINA, 
quibus veterum regum actus et bella canebantur, scripsit," c. 29. 

Asserios de jElfredo Magno. " Rex inter balla &c Saxonicos 

libros recitare, et maxtmr cabmina Saxonica memoriter discere, aliis 
imperare, et solus assidue pro viribus, studiosissime non desinebat." £d. 
1722, 8vo, p. 43. * See above, pp. 81, 84, &c. 

• The romances on the subject of Perceval, San GradL, Lancelot du La^, 
Tristan, <fcc., were among the first that appeared in the French language 
in Prose, yet these were originally composed in Metre : the Editor has in 
his possession a very old French MS. m verse, containing L*ancien Roman 
de Perceval ; and metrical copies of the others may be found in the libraries 
of the curious. — See a note of Wanley*s in Harl. Catalog, no. 2252, p. 49, 
&c Nicolson*s Eng. Hist. Library, 3d ed. p. 91, &c. — See also a curious 
Collection of old French Romances, with Mr. Wanley's account of this sort 
of pieces, in Harl. MSS. Catal. 978, 106. 

♦ The author of the Essay on the Genius of Pope, p. 282. 
» Ibid. p. 283. Hist. Lit. tom. vi. vii. 

• Voir Preface aux " Fabliaux et Contes das Poetes Francois des xii. xiii. 
ilT. & XV. sidles, &c." Paris, 1756, 3 tom. 12mo. (A very carious work.) 

* See the account of TaUlefer in vol. i. Essay, and note. And see Bapin, 



88 ON THE ANCIENT 

So early as this I cannot trace the songs of chivalry in English. 
The most ancient I have seen is that of HornechUd, described below^ 
which seems not older than the twelfth century. However, as Hhia 
rather resembles the Saxon poetry than the French, it is not certain 
that the first English romances were translated from that language. 
We have seen above, that a propensity to this kind of fiction prevailed 
among all the (lothio nations :" and though, after the Norman conquest 
this country abounded with French romances, or with translations 
from the Frencii, there is good reason to believe that the English had 
original pieces of their own. 

The stories of King Arthur and his Bound Table may be reasonably 
supposed of the growth of this island : both the French and the 
Armoricans probably had them from Britain.* The stories of Guy and 
Bevis, with some others, were probably the invention of EngUsh 
Minstrels.* On the other hand, the English procured translations of 
such romances as were most current in iSance ; and in the list given 
at the conclusion of these remarks, many are doubtless of French 
origin. 

The first prose books of chivalry that appeared in our language were 



Carte, &c. — ^This song of Roland (whatever it was) continued for some 
centuries to be usually sung by the French in their marches, if we may 
believe a modern French writer, '* Un jour qu'on chantoit la Chanson ds 
Roland, comrae c'^toit I'usage dans les marches. II y a long temps, dit-il 
[John K. of France, who died in 1364], qu'on ne voit plus de Rolands 
parmi les Franqois. On y verroit encore des Rolands, lui r^pondit un 
vieux Capitaine, s'ils avoient un Charlemagne k leur t^te." — Vide torn. iii. 
p. 202, des Essaies Hist, sur Paris de M. de Saintefoix, who gives, as his 
authority, Boethius in Hist. Scotorum. This author, however, speaks of 
the complaint and repartee as made in an assembly of the States (vocato 
senatu), And not upon any march, &c. — ^Vide Boeth. lib. xv. fol. 327. Ed. 
Paris. 1574. 

* See, on this subject, vol. i. Notes on the Essay on the Ancient Minstrels, 
(s 2) and (g g). 

* The first romances of chivalry among the Germans were in metre; they 
have some very ancient narrative songs (which they call Lieder)^ not only 
on the fabulous heroes of their own country, but also on those of France 
and Britain, as Tristram, Arthur, Gawain, and the Knights von der Tafel- 
romfe.— Vid. Goldasti Not. in Eginhart. Vit. Car. Mag. 4to, 1711, p. 207. 

* The Welsh have still some very old romances about King Arthur ; but 
as these are in prose, they are not probably their first pieces that were 
composed on that subject. 

^ It IS most credible that these stories were originally of English inven- 
tion, even if the only pieces now extant should be found to be translations 
from the French. What now pass for the French originals were probably 
only amplifications, or enlargements of the old English story. That the 
French Romancers borrowed some things from the English, appears from 
the word Termagant, which they took up from our minstrels, and corrupted 
into Tervagauute. — See toL i. p. 52, and Gloss. '* Termagant." 



METBIOAL BOMAKGBS, ETO. 89 

Close printed by Caxton;' at least, these are the first I have been able 
to discover, and these are all translations from the French. Whereaa 
romances of this kind had been long current in metre, and were so 
generally admired in the time of Chaucer, that his rhyme of Sir Thopa$ 
was evidently written to ridicule and burlesque them.* 

He expressly mentions several of them by name in a stanza, which 
I shall have occasion to quote more than once in this volume : 

" Men speken of Romaunces of pris 
Of Horn-Child, and of Ipotis 

Of Bevis, and Sire Guy, 
Of Sire Libeux, and Pleindamour, 
But Sire Thopas, he hereth the flour 

Of real chevalrie." * 

Most, if not all of these, are still extant in MS. in some or other of 
our libraries, as I shall show in the conclusion of this slight Essay, 
where I shall give a list of such metrical histories and romances as 
have fallen under my observation. 

As many of these contain a considerable portion of poetic merit, and 
throw great light on the manners and opinions of former times, it 
were to be wished that some of the best of them were rescued from 
oblivion. A judicious collection of them, accurately published, with 
proper illustrations, would be an important accession to our stock of 
ancient English literature. Many of them exhibit no mean attempts 
at epic poetry : and though full of the exploded fictions of chivalry, 
frequently display great descriptive and inventive powers in the bards 
who composed them. They are at least generally equal to any other 
poetry of the same age. They cannot indeed be put in competition 
with the nervous productions of so universal and commanding a genius 
as Chaucer; but they have a simplicity that makes them be read 
with less interruption, and be more easily understood : and they are 
far more spirited and entertaining than the tedious allegories of Gower, 
or the dull and prolix legends of Lydgate. Yet, while so much stress 
was laid upon the writings of these last, by such as treat of English 
poetry, the old metrical romances, though far more popular in their 
time, were hardly known to exist. But it has happened, unluckily, 
that the antiquaries who have revived the works of our ancient 
writers, have been, for the most part, men void of taste and genius, 

» Recuyel of the Hystoryes of Troy, 1471. Godfroye of Boloyne, 1481. 
Le morte de Arthur, 1485. The life of Charlemagne, 1485, &c. As the 
old minstrelsy wore out, prose books of chivalry became more admired, 
especially after the Spanish romances began to be translated into English, 
towards the end of Queen Elizabeth's reiga : then the most popular me- 
trical romances began to be reduced into prose, as Sir Guy, Bevis, &c. 

* See extract from a letter, written by the Editor of these volumes, in 
Mr. Warton's Observations, vol. ii. p. 139. 

•Canterbury Tales (Tyrwhitt's Edit.) vol. ii. p. 288.— In all the former 
editions which I have seen, the name at Hq end of the fourth line ll 
Hiandamoure, 



90 ON THE ANOIKNT 

and therefore have always fastidiouBly rejected the old pcetioaf 
romances, oecause founded on fictitious or popular subjects, while 
they have oeen careful to grub up every petty fragment of the most 
dull and insipid rhymist, whose merit it was to deform morality or 
obscure true history. 8hould the public encourage the revival of some 
of those ancient epic songs of chivalry, they would frequently see the 
rich ore of an Ariosto or a Tasso, though buried, it may be, among the 
rubbish and dross of barbarous times. 

Such a publication would answer many important uses; it would 
throw new light on the rise and progress of English poetry, the history 
of which can be but imperfectly understood if these are neglected ; 
it would also serve to illustrate innumemble passages in our ancient 
classic poets, which, without their help, must be for ever obscure. 
For, not to mention Chaucer and Spenser, who abound with perpetual 
allusions to them, I shall give an instance or two from Shakspeare, 
by way of specimen of their use. 

In his play of King John, our great dramatic poet alludes to an 
exploit of Biohard I., which the reader will in vain look for in any true 
history. Faulconbridge says to his mother, act i. sc. 1, 

" Needs must yon lay your heart at his dispose . . . 
AgaiDst whose furie and unmatched force. 
The awlesse lion could not wage the fiight. 
Nor keepe his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
He that perforce robs lions of their hearts 
May easily winne a woman's : " — 

The fact here referred to, is to be traced to its source only in the 
old romance of Bichard Ceur de Lion^^ in which his encounter with the 
lion makes a very shining figure. I shall give a large extract from 
this poem, as a specimen of the manner of these old rLapsodists, and 
to show that they did not in their fictions neglect the proper means to 
produce the ends, as was afterwards so childishly done in the prose 
(xx)ks of chivahy. 

The poet tells us, that Bichard, in his return from the Holy Land, 
having oeen discovered in the habit of " a palmer in Almayne," and 
apprehended as a spy, was by the king thrown into prison. War- 
drewe, the Mug's son, hearing of Eicliard's great strength, desires the 
jailor to let liim have a sight of his prisoners. Richard being the fore- 
most, Wardrewe asks him, ** if he dare stand a buffet from his hand ? " 
and that on the morrow he shall return him another. Richard con- 
sents, and receives a blow that staggers him On the morrow, having 
previously waxed his hands, he waits his antagonist's arrival. War- 
drewe accordingly, proceeds the story, " held forth as a trewe man," 
and Bicbard gave him such a blow on the cheek, as broke his jaw- 

• Dr. Grey has shown that the same story is alluded to in Rastell's 
Chronicle: as it was doubtless originally had from the romance, this is 
proof that the old metrical romances throw light on our first writers in 
prose: many of our ancient historians have reccrded the fictions of 
romance. 



METBICAL BOMANOBS, ETC. 91 

bone, and killed him on the spot. The king, to revenge the death of 
his son, orders, by the advice of one Eldrede, that a lion, kept purposely 
firom food, shall be turned loose upon Hicljard. But the king's daughter 
having fallen in love with him, tells him of her father's resolution, and 
at his request procures him forty ells of white silk '^kerchers;" and 
heie the description of the combat begins : 

** The kever-chefes ' he toke on honde, 
And aboute his arme he wonde ; 
And thought in that ylke while, 
To slee the lyon with some gyle. 
And syngle in a kyrtyll he stode," 
And abode the lyon fyers and wode, 
With that came the jaylere, 
And other men that wyth him were. 
And the lyon them amonge ; 
His pawes were stiffe and stronge. 
The chambre dore they undone, 
And the lyon to them is gone. 
Rycharde sayd, Helpe, lorde Jesu, 
The lyon made to hym venu, 
And wolde hym have all to rente : 
Kynge Rycharde besyde him glente • 5 
The lyon on the breste hym spumed, 
That aboute he tourned. 
The lyon was hongry and megre, 
And bette his tayle to be egre ; 
He loked aboute as he were madde ; 
Abrode he all his pawes spradde. 
He cryed lowde, and yaned • wyde. 
Kynge Rycharde bethought hym that tyde 
What hym was beste, and to him sterte, 
In at the throte his honde he gerte, 
And hente out the herte with his honde, 
Lounge and all that he there fonde. 
The lyon fell deed to the grounde : 
Rycharde felte no wem *, ne wounde. 
He fell on his knees on that place, 
And thanked Jesu of his grace." 
* * * * • 

What follows is not so well, and therefore I shall extract no more of 
this poem. — For the above feat, the author tells us, the long wa« 
Gfcservedly called 

" Stronge Rycharde Cure de Lyowne.*' 



» *. e, handkerchiefs. Here we have the etymology of the word, vi* 
" Couvre le Chef." 
• 1. e, slipt aside. • t. e. yawned, * •*. e. hurt 



92 ON THE ANonarr 

That distich which Shakspearo puts in the mouth of his madman in 
King Leaff act iii. sc. 4, 

<^ Mice and rats and such small deere 
Have been Tom*s food for seven lonjj yeare/* 

has excited the attention of the critics. Instead of deere^ one of them 
would substitute geer, and another cheer* But the ancient readinp^ is 
established by the old romance of Sir JBevis, which Shakspeare had 
doubtless often heard sung to the harp. This distich is part of a de- 
scription there given of the hardships suffered by Bevis, when confined 
for seven years in a dungeon : 

'* Rattes and myse and such small dere 
Was his meate that seven yere." — Sign. F. iii. 

III. In different parts of this work, the reader will find various 
extracts from these old poetical legends ; to which I refer him for 
further examples of their style and metre. To complete this subject, 
it will be proper at least to give one specimen of their skill in dis- 
tributing and conducting their fable, by which it will be seen, that 
nature and common sense had supplied to these old simple bards the 
want of critical art, and taught them some of the most essential rules 
of epic poetry. — I shall select the romance of Libiua Disconius,^ as being 
one of those mentioned by Chaucer, and either shorter or more intelli- 
gible than the others he has quoted. 

If an epic poem may be defined * " A fable related by a poet, to 
excite admiration, and inspire virtue, by representing the action of 
some one hero, favoured by Heaven, who executes a great design, in 
spite of all the obstacles that oppose him," I know not why we should 
withhold the name of epic poem from the piece which I am about to 
analyze. 

My copy is divided into ix Parts or Cantos, the several arguments 
of which are as tbllows. 

PABT I. 

Opens with a short exordium to bespeak attention: the hero is 
dfwcribed ; a natural son of Sir Gawain, a celebrated knight of King 
Ai-thurs court, who, being brought up in a forest by his mother, is 
kept ignorant of his name and descent. He early exhibits marks of 
his courage, by killing a knight in single combat, who encountered him 
as he was hunting. This inspires him with a desire of seeking adven- 
tures: therefore clothing himself in his enemy's armour, he goes to 
King Arthur's court, to request the order of knighthood. His request 
granted, he obtains a promise of having the first adventure assigned 
him that shall offer. — A damsel named Ellen, attended by a dwarf, 

* Dr. Warburton. — Dr. Grey. 

' So it is entitled in the Editor's MS. But the true title is, Le heaua 
VisconuSj or the Fair Unknown. See a note on the Canterbury Tales, vol, 
iv. p. 333. 

* Vid, *' Discours sur la Poesie Cpique," prefixed to Tjslemaqui. 



HETBIOAL ROMAKOES, ETa 98 

eomes to implore King Arthur's assistance to rescue a young princess, 
**the lady of Sinadone," their mistress, who is detained from her 
rights, and confiu^ in prison. The adventure is claimed by the young 
knight Sir Lybius : the king assents ; the messengers are dissatisfied 
and object to his youth ; but aure forced to acquiesce. And here the 
first book closes with a description of the ceremony of equipping him 
forth. 

PABT n. 

Sir Lybius sets out on the adventure : he is derided by the dwarf 
and the damsel on account of his youth : they come to the bridge of 
Perill, which none can pass without encountering a knight called 
William de la Braunch. Sir Lybius is challenged: they just with 
their spears : De la Braunch is dismounted : the battle is renewed on 
foot: Sir William's sword breaks: he yields. Sir Lybius mukes him 
fiwear to go and present himself to King Arthur, as the first fruits of 
Lis valour. The conquered knight sets out for King Arthur's court : 
is met by three knights, his kinsmen ; who, informed of his disgrace, 
vow revenge, and pursue the conqueror. The next day they overtake 
him : the eldest of the three attacks Sir Lybius ; but is overthrown to 
the ground. The two other brothers assault him: Sir Lybius is 
wounded ; yet cuts off the second brother's arm ; the third yields : Sir 
Lybius sends them all to King Arthur. In the third evening he is 
awakened by the dwarf, who has discovered a fire in the wood. 



Sir Lybius arms himself, and leaps on horseback: he finds two 
giants roasting a wild boar, who have a fair lady their captive. Sir 
Lybius, by favour of the night, nms one of them through with his 
spear : is assaulted by the other : a fierce battle ensues : he cuts off the 
pant's arm, and at length his head. The rescued lady (an earl's 
daughter) tells him her story, and leads him to her father's castle ; 
who entertains him with a great feast : and presents him at parting 
with a suit of armour and a steed. He sends the giant's head to King 
Arthur. 

PART TV, 

Sir Lybius, maid Ellen, and the dwarf, renew their journey : they 
8ee a castle stuck round with human heads, and are informed it, 
belongs to a knight called Sir Gefferon, who, in honour of his leman, 
or mistress, challenges all comers : he that can produce a fairer lady, 
is to be rewarded with a milk-white faulcon, but if overcome, to lose his 
head. Sir Lybius spends the night in the adjoining town: in the 
morning goes to challenge the faulcon. The knights exchange their 
gloves : they agree to just in the market-place : the' lady and maid 
Ellen are placed aloft in chairs : their dresses : the superior beauty 
of Sir Geflferon's nustress described : the ceremonies previous to the 
combat. They engage : the combat described at large : Sir Gefferon 
is incurably hurt, and carried home on his shield. Sir Lybius sends 
the &ulcon to King Arthur, and receives back a large present in florina. 



94 ON THE ANCIENT 

He stays forty days to be cured of his wounds, which he spends in 
feasting with the neighbouring lords. 



Sir Lybius proceeds for Sinadone: in a forest he meets a knight 
hunting, called Sir Otes de Lisle : maid EUen, charmed with a very 
beautiful dog, begs Sir Lybius to bestow him upon her : Sir Otes meets 
them, and claims his dog : is refused : being unarmed he rides to his 
castle and summons his followers : they go in quest of Sir Lybius : 
a battle ensues : he is stiU victorious, and forces Sir Otes to foUow the 
other conquered knights to King Arthur. 



Sir Lybius comes to a fair city and castle by a river side, beset round 
with pavilions or tents : he is informed, in the castle is a beautiful 
lady besieged by a giant named Maugys, who keeps the bridge, and 
will let none pass without doing him homage : this Lybius refuses : a 
batttle ensues; the giant described: the several incidents of the battle; 
which lasts a whole summer's day: the giant is wounded; put t* 
flight; slain. The citizens come out in procession to meet theii 
deliverer : the lady invites him into her castle : falls in love with him ; 
and seduces him to her embraces. He forgets the princess of Sinadone, 
and stays with this bewitching lady a twelvemonth. This fair sorceress, 
like another Alcina, intoxicates him with all kinds of sensual pleasure; 
and detains him from the pursuit of honour. 

PABT VII. 

Maid Ellen by chance gets an opportunity of speaking to him ; and 
upbraids him with his vice and folly : he is filled with remorse, and 
escapes the same evening. At length he arrives at the city and castle 
of Sinadone: is given to understand that he must challenge the 
constable of the castle to single combat, before he can be received as 
a guest. They just : the constable is worsted : Sir Lybius is feasted 
in the castle ; he declares his intention of delivering their lady ; and 
inquires the particulars of her history. "Two Necromancers have built 
a fine palace by sorcery, and there keep her enchanted, till she will 
surrender her duchy to them, and yield to such base conditions as they 
would impose." 



Early on the morrow Sir Lybius sets out for the enchanted palace. 
He alights in the court : enters the haU : the wonders of which are 
descril^ in strong Gothic painting. He sits down at the high table : 
on a sudden aU £e lights are quenched : it thunders and lightens ; 
the palace shakes; the walls fall into pieces about his ears. He is 
dismayed and confoimded : but presently hears horses neigh, and Is 
challenged to single combat by the sorcerers. He gets to his steed : 
a battle ensues, with various turns of fortune : he loses his weapon ; 
but gets a sword from one of the necromancers, and wounds the other 



HETBIOAL BOMANOBS, ETO. 95 

with it : the edge of the sword being secretly poisoned, the wound 
proves mortal. 

PART IX. 

He goes up to the surviving sorcerer, who is carried away from him 
by enchantment : at length he finds him, and cuts off his head : he 
returns to the palace to deliver the lady ; but cannot find her : as he 
is lamenting, a window opens, through which enters a horrible serpent 
with wings and a woman's fac« : it coils round his neck and kisses 
him ; then is suddenly converted into a very beautiful lady. She tells 
him she is the Lady of Sinadone, and was so enchanted, till she might 
kiss Sir Gawain, or some one of his blood : that he has dissolved the 
charm, and that herself and her dominions may be his reward The 
knight (whose descent is by this means discovered) joyfully accepts 
the offer, makes her his bride, and then sets out with her for King 
Arthur's court. 

Such is the fable of this ancient piece; which the reader may 
observe, is as regular in its conduct as any of the finest poems of 
classical antiquity. If the execution, particularly as to the diction 
and sentiments, were but equal to the plan, it would be a capital 
performance; but this is such as might be expected in rude and 
ignorant times, and in a betrbarous, unpolished language. 

IV. I shall conclude this prolix account, with a list of such old 
Metrical Bomances as are still extant ; beginning with those mentioned 
by Chaucer. 

1 . The Komance of Home Childe is preserved in the British Museum, 
where it is entitled \)e ^este of kyng Home. See Catalog. Harl. MSS. 
2253, p. 70. The language is almost Saxon, yet from the mention in 
it of Sarazens, it appears to have been vmtten after some of the 
Crusades. It begins thus : 

" All heo ben hljpe 
))at to my sonj ylyj)e : 
A son^ ychulle ou sinj 
Of AUof fe jode kynje," * &c. 

Another copy of this poem, but greatly altered, and somewhat 
modernised, is preserved in the Advocates' library at Edinburgh, 
in a MS. quarto volume of old English poetry, [W". 4, 1.] number 
xxxiv. in 7 leaves or folios,* entitled HomHshild aiid Maiden Binivel, 
and beginning thus : 

" Mi leve frende dere, 
Herken and ye may here." 



* i. e. May all they be blithe, that to my song listen : A song 1 shall you 
ling, Of AUof the good king, &c. 

* In each full page of this vol. are 44 lines, wnen the poem is in long 
Betre : and 88 when the metre is short, a id the page in two colunms. 



96 ON THE ANCIKNT 

2. The poem of Ipotis (or Ypotis) is preserved in the Cotton library 
Calig. A. 2, ful. 77, out is rather a religious legend, than a romanoo. 
lU beginning is, 

" He p&i wyll of wysdome here 
Herkeneth nowe ze may here 
Of a tale of holy wryte 
Seynt Jon the E^ingelyste wytnesseth hyt." 

8. The Eomance of Sir Guy was written before that of Bevis, being 
quoted in it.' An account oi this old poem is given in this volume, 
book viii. no. i. To which it may be added, that two complete copies in 
MS. are preserved at Cambridge ; the one in the public library,® the 
other in that of Caius College, Class A. 8. — In Ames's Typog. p. 153, 
may be seen the first lines of the printed copy. The first MS. begins, 

" Sythe the tyme that God was borne." 

4. Chiy and Colbronde, an old romance in three parts, is preserved in 
the Editor's folio MS. (p. 349.) It is in stanzas of six lines, the first 
of which may be seen in vol. i. p. 369, beginning thus : 

" When meate and drinke is great plentye." 

In the Edinburgh MS. (mentioned above) are two ancient poems on 
the subject of Ghiy of Warwick : viz. number xviii. containing 26 leaves 
and XX. 59 leaves. Both these have unfortunately the beginnings 
wanting; otherwise they would, perhaps, be found to be different 
copies of one or both the preceding articles. 

5. From the same MS. I can add another article to this list, viz. 
The Romance of Eembrun, son of Sir Guy ; b« ing number xxi. in 9 
leaves : this is properly a continuation of the History of Guy : and in 
art. 3, the Hist, of Rembrun follows that of Guy as a necessary part of 
it. This Edinburgh Romance of Rembrun begins thus : 

" Jesu that erst of mighte most 
Fader and Sone and Holy Ghost." 

Before I quit the subject of Sir Guy, I must observe, that if we may 
believe Dugdale in bis Baronage [vol. i. p. 243, col. 2J, the fame of our 
English champion had, in the time of Henry IV., travelled as far as the 
East, and was no less popular among the Sarazens, than here in the West 
among the nations of Christendom. In that reign a Lord Beauchamp 
travelling to Jerusalem, was kindly received by a noble person, the 
Soldan's lieutenant, who hearing he was descended from the famous 
Guy of Warwick, "whose stories they had in books of their own 

' Sign. K. 2. b. 

■ For this, and most of the following which are mentioned as preservetl 
In the public library, I refer the reader to the Oion. Catalogue of MSS. 
1697, vol. ii. p. 394; in Appendix to Bp. More's MSS. no. 690, 33, sinoi 
given to the Univer-isy of Cambridge. 



METRICAL BOMANOES, BTO. 97 

language," invited him to his palace ; and royally feasting him, pre- 
sented him with three precious stones of great value ; besides divers 
doths of silk and gold given to his servants. 

6. The Romance of Syr Bevis is described in this volume, book ix. 
no. i. Two manuscript copies of this poem are extant at Cambridge, 
viz. in the public library," and in that of Caius Ooll. Class A. 9 (5).— 
The first of these begins, 

" Lordyngs lystenyth grete and smale." 

There is also a copy of this Romance of Sir Bevis of HampUmn, in 
the Edinburgh MS. no. xxiL, consisting of 25 leaves, and beginning 
thus: 

<* Lordinges herkneth to mi tale. 
Is merier than the nightengale." 

The printed copies begin different from both, viz., 
" Lysten, Lordinges, and hold you styl." 

7. Idbeanx (Ltbeaus, or Lyhius) DueonitM, is preserved in the Edit(H^s 
folio MS. (page 317), where the first stanza is, 

'^ Jesus Christ christen kinge. 
And his mother that sweete thinge, 

Helpe them at their neede, 
That will listen to my tale, 
. Of a Knight I will you tell, 
A doughtye man of deede." 

An older copy is preserved in the Cotton library [Calig. A. 2, ful. 
401, but containing such innumerable variations that it is apparently 
a diflferent translation of some old French original, which will account 
for the title of Le Beaux Disconus, or Hie Fair ilnhnoum. The first 
line is, 

** Jesu Christ our Savyour." 

As for Pldndamour, or Blandamoure, no romance with this title has 
been discovered ; but as the word Blaundemere occurs in the romance 
of Libttis IHsconius in the Editor's folio MS., p. 319, he thought the 
name of Blandamoure (which was in all the editions of Chaucer he 
had then seen) might have some reference to this. But Pleindannourf 
the name restored by Mr. Tyrwhitt, is more remote. 

8. Le Morte AHhure is among the Harl. MSS. 2252, § 49. This is 
judged to be a translation &om the French ; llflr. Wanley thinks it no 
older than tiio time of Hen. YII., but it seems to be quoiked in Syr Be?ifl 
(Sign. K. ij. b.). It begins, 

*' Lordinges, that are leffe and deare." 



• No. 690, 9 31. Vide Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 
VOL, H. 



98 ON THE ANCIENT 

In tho library of Bennet GoU. Cambridge, no. 351, ia a MS. entitled 
in the catalogue Acta Atihuria MeMoo AngUcano^ but I know not its 
contents. 

0. In the Editor's folio MS. are many songs and romances abont 
King Arthur and his knights, some of which are very imperfect, as 
King Arthur attd the King of ComiwdO, (p. 24), in stanzas of four linee, 
Ixjginning, 

*' * Come here,' my cozen Gawame so gay.*' 

The Turke and Qavoain (p. S8), in stanzas of six lines, beginning 

thUH, 

** Listen lords great and small ; " ^ 

l>ut thorie are so imperfect, that I do not make distinct articles of them. 
— Sen also in this volume, book vii. no. ii. iv. v. 

In the same MS., p. 208, is the Ghreene Kntghtj in two parts, relating 
u (uiriouB adventure of Sir Gawain, in stanzas of six lines, beginning 
thus: 

" List : wen Arthur he was k : " 

10. The Carle of Carlisle is another romantio tale about Sir Gawain, 
in the same MS. p. 448, in distiohs : 

" Listen : to me a little stond." 

In all thoRO old poems the same set of knights are always repre- 
h(*uI(h1 with tho same manners and characters ; which seem to have 
hwM fiH wuU known, and as distinctly marked among our ancestors, as 
Jlonu^'s horooB were among the Greeks; for, as Ulysses is always 
ri'proHoutod crafty, AchiUes irascible, and Ajax rough ; so Sir Gawain 
Ih ov«>r courteous and gentle. Sir Kay rugged and disobliging, &c. " Sir 
(iiiwuin with his old curtysie," is mentioned by Chaucer as noted to a 
jirovcrb in his Squire^s Tale, Canterh. Tales, vol. ii. p. 104. 

11. Syr Launfal, an excellent old romance concerning another of 
Kinp; Arthur's knights, is preserved in the Cotton library, Calig. A. 2. 
f. JJ;J. This it) a translation from the French,* made by one Thomas 
CluiBtro, who is supposed to have lived in the reign of Hen. VI. [See 
Tuuuor's liihlioth.j It is in stanzas of six lines, and begins, 

" Be douzty Artours dawes." 

Tho ftbovo was afterwards altered by some Minstrel into the Romance 
of Sir Lainbewellf in three parts, under which title it was more gene- 

* In tho former editions, after the above, followed mention of a fragment 
in tho same MS. entitled Sir Lionel, in distichs (p. 32) ; but this being 
ouly H nhort ballad, and not relating to King Arthur, is here omitted. 

* The French original is preserved among the Harl. MSS. no. 978, f 112, 



METBICAL BOMANOKS, ETC. 99 

rally known.' This is in the Editor's folio MS. p. 60, beginning 
thus: 

" Doughty in King Arthures dayes." 

12. Eger and Grime, in six parts (in the Editor's folio MS., p. 124), 
is a woU-invented tale of chivalry, scarce inferior to any of Ariosto's. 
This, which was inadvertently omitted in the former editions of this 
list, is in distichs, and begins thus : 

** It fell sometimes in the Land of Beame." 

13. The Romance of Merlirie, in nine parts (preserved in the same 
folio MS., p. 145), gives a curious account of the birth, parentage, and 
juvenile adventures of this famous British prophet. In this poem the 
Saxons are called Saraaens ; and the thrusting the rebel angels out of 
heaven is attributed to " oure Lady** It is in distichs, and begins 
thus : 

*' He that made with his hand." 

There is an old romance Of Arthour and of Merlin, in the Edinburgh 
MS. of old English poems : I know not whether it has anything in 
common with this last mentioned. It is in the volume numbered zxiii., 
and extends through 55 leaves. The two first lines are, 

" Jesu Crist, heven king, 
Al ous graunt gode ending." 

14. Sir Isenras (or, as it is in the MS. copies. Sir Iswmhras) is 
quoted in Chaucer's R. of Thop. v. 6. Among Mr. Garrick's old plays 
is a printed copy ; of which an account has been already given in vol. 
i. book iii. no. viii. It is preserved in MS. in the library of Caius Coll. 
Camb. Class A. 9. (2.) and also in the Cotton library, Calig. A. 12. 
(f. 128.) This is extremely different from the printed copy : e, g. 

" God J>at made both er])e and hevene." 

15. Emare, a very curious and ancient romance, is preserved in the 
same vol. of the Cotton library, f. 69. It is in stanzas of six tines, and 
begins thus : 

" Jesu ])at ys kyng in trone." 

16. Chevelere a^gne, or. The Knight of the Swan, preserved in the 
Cotton library, has been already described in vol. i. Essay on P. 
Plawman*8 Metre, &c., as hath also 

17. TTie Siege of Jerlam (or Jerusalem), which seems to have been 
written after the other, and may not improperly be classed among the 
romances ; as may also the following, which is preserved in the same 
volume: viz., 

* See Laneham's Letter concerning Q. Eliz. entertainment at Killing' 
worth, 1575, 12mo, p. 34. 



100 ON THE ANOnCKT 

18. Ovoaine Myles (fol. 90), giving an aooount of the wonders of 8t, 
Patrick's Purgatory. This is a translation into verse of the story 
related in Mat. Paris's Hist, (sub ann. 1153). — It is in distichs begin- 
ning thus : 

" God jMit ys 80 full of myght." 

In the same manuscript are three or four other narrative poems, 
which might be reckoned among the romances; but being rather 
religious legends, I shall barely mention them: as, Tundahf f. 17. 
TrentaU Sci Oregoriiy f. 84. Jerome, f. 133. Eudache, f. 136. 

19. Octavian imperator, an ancient romance of chivalry, is in the 
same vol. of the Cotton library, f. 20. — ^Notwithstanding the name, this 
old poem has nothing in common with the history of the Roman 
emperors. It is in a very peculiar kind of stanza, whereof 1, 2, 3, and 
5, rhyme together, as do the 4 and 6. It begins thus : 

" Ihesu ])hat was with spere ystonge.*' 

In the public library at Cambridge* is a poem with the same title, 
that begins very diflferently : 

" Lyttyll and mykyll, olde and yonge." 

20. Eglamour of Artas (or Artoys) is preserved in the same vol. with 
the foregoing, both in the Cotton hbrary and public library at 
Cambridge. It is also in the Editor's folio MS. p. 295, where it is 
divided into six parts. — A printed copy is in the Bodleian library, c. 
39, art. Sold., and also among Mr. Garrick's old plays, K. vol. z. It is 
in distichs, and begins thus : 

** Ihesu Crist of heven kyng." 

21. Syr IWamore (in stanzas of six lines) is preserved in MS. in the 
Editor's volume, p. 210, and in the public library at Cambridge (690, 
§ 29. Vid. Cat. MSS. p. 894).— Two printed copies are extant in the 
Bodleian library, and among Mr. Garrick's plays in the same volumes 
with the last article. Both the MS. and the printed copies begin, 

" Nowe Jesu Chryste our heven kynge." 

The Cambridge copy thus : 

" Heven blys that all shall wynne." 

22. Sir Degree (Degare, or Degore, which last seems the true title), 
in five parts, in distichs, is preserved in the Editor's folio MS. p. 371, 
and in the public library at Cambridge (ubi supra). — A printed copy 
is in the Bod. library, c. 39, art. Seld., and among Mr. Garrick's plays, 
K. vol. ix. — The Editor's MS. and the printed copies begin, 

" Lordinge, and you wyl holde you styl." 



* No. 690 (30). Vide Oxon. Catalog. MSS. p. 394. 



METBIOAL BOMANOES, ETC. 101 

The Cambridge MS. has it, 

** Lysteny th, lordingis, geiite and fre.** 

23. Ipomydon (or Chylde Ipomydon) is preserved among the Hart 
HSS. 2252 (44). It is Iq distiohs, and be^ns, 

" Mekely» jrdyngis, gentylle and fre." 

' In the library of Lincoln Cathedral, K. k. 3. 10, is an old imperfect 
printed copy, wanting the whole first sheet A. 

24. The Squyr of Lowe Degre, is one of those burlesqued by Chaucer 
in his Ehyme of Thopas. * — Mr. Garrick has a printed copy of this 
among his old plays, K. vol. ix. It begins, 

" It was a squyer of lowe degre, 
That loyed the kings daughter of Hungit,"" 

25. Historye of K, Bichard Cure ICoeur] de Lyon [Impr. W. de 
Worde, 1528, 4to], is preserved in the Bodleian library, o. 39, art. 
Selden. A fragment of it is also remaining in the Edinburgh MS. of 
old English poems ; no. xxxvi. in 2 leaves. A large extract from this 
romance has been given already above, p. 91. Richard was the pecu- 
liar patron of Chivalry, and favourite of the old Minstrels and Trouba- 
dours. — See Warton's Observ. vol ii. p. 29 ; vol. ii. p. 40. 

26. Of the following I have only seen Ko. 27, but I believe they may 
all be referred to the class of romances. 

The Knight of Courtesy and the Lady of Faguel (Bodl. lib. c. 39, art. 
Seld., a printed copy). This Mr. Warton thinks is the story of Coucy's 
Heart, related in Fauchet, and in HowePs Letters [V. i. s. 6, 1. 20. — 
8ee Wart. Obs. v. ii. p. 40]. The Editor has seen a very beautiful old 
ballad on this subject in French. 

27. The four following are all preserved in the MS. so often referred 
to in the public library at Cambridge (690. Appendix to Bp. More's 
MSS. in Cat. MSS. tom. ii. p. 394), viz. The Lay of ErU of Thohune 
(No. 27), of which the Editor hath also a copy from " Cod. MSS. Mus. 
Ashmol. Oxon." The first line of both is, 

" Jesu Chryste in Trynyte." 

28. Roberd Kynge of CysyU (or Sicily), shewing the fall of Pride. (M 
this there is also a copy among the Harl. MSS. 1703 (3). The Cambridge 
MS. begins, 

" Princis that be prowde in prese." 



* This is allnded to by Shakspeare in his Henry V. (act. t.J, when 
Fluellyn tells Pistol, he will make hin a Squire of Low Degree, when ht 
means to knock him down. 



102 ON THE AKOIENT 

29. Xe hone Florence of Rome, beginning thus : 

** As ferre as men ride or gone,** 
80. JHodenan the Emperour, beginning, 

" Sum tjme ther was a noble man." 

31. The two knightly brothers, Amys and AmdUm (among the HarL 
MSB. 238(>, § 42), is an old Romance of chivalry ; as is also, I believei, 
the fragment of Lady Bdesard, the Duke of Lombard^ s fair daughter ^ 
mentioned in the same article. — See the Catalog, vol. ii. 

32. In the Edinburgh MS. so often referred to (preserved in th€ 
Advocates* library, W. 4. 1), might probably be found some other 
articles to add to this list, as well as other copies of some of the pieoee 
mentioned in it; for the whole volume contains not fewer than 37 Poemii 
or Romances, some of them very long. But as many of them have lost 
the beginningH, which have been cut out for the sake of the illumina- 
tions ; and as I have not had an opportunity of examining the MB. 
myself, I shall be content to mention only the articles that follow : * 
viz.. 

An old Romance about Eovland (not, I believe, the famous Paladine, 
but a champion named Rouland Louth ; query), being in the volume^ 
no. xxvii. in 5 loaves, and wants the beginning. 

33. Another Romance, that seems to be a kind of continuation of 
this last, entitled Otuel a Knight (no. xxviii.), in 11 leaves and a half. 
The two first lines are, 

*' Herkncth both zinge and old. 
That willen heren of battailes bold.** 

84. The King of Tars (no. iv. in 5 leaves and a half; it is also in the 
Bodleian library, MS Vernon, f. 804), beginning thus : 

" Herkneth to me both eld and zing. 
For Maries love that swete thing. ** 

85. A Tale or Romance (no. i. 2 leaves) that wants both beginning 
and end. The first lines now remaining are, 

*' Th Erl him graunted his will y-wis. that the knicht him haden y-told. 
The Baronnis that were of mikle pris, befor him thay weren y-cald." 

86. Another mutilated Tale or Romance (no. iii. 4 leaves). The 
first lines at present are, 

• Some of these I give, though mutilated and divested of their titles, 
because they may enable a curious inquirer to complete or improve other 
copies. 



BISTBIOAL BOMANOES, ETO. 103 

** Is Mr. Steward will y gon, and tellen him the sothe of the 
Reseyved bestow sone anon, gif zou will serye and with hir be.*' 

37. A mutilated Tale or Eomance (no. xi. in 13 leaves). The two 
first lines that occur are, 

" That riche Dooke his fest gan hold 
With Erls and with Baronns bold." 

I cannot conclude my account of this curious manuscript, without 
acknowledging that I was indebted to the friendship of the Rev. Dr. 
Blair, the ingenious Professor of Belles Lettres in the University of 
Edinburgh, for whatever I learned of its contents, and for the important 
additions it enabled me to make to the foregoing list. 

To the preceding articles, two ancient metrical romances in the 
Scottish dialect may now be added, which are published in Pinkerton's 
Scottish Poems, reprinted from scarce editions, Lend. 1792, in 3 vols. 
8vo, viz. : 

88. Oawan and Chlogrcu, a Metrical Romance; from an edition 
printed at Edinburgh, 1508, 8vo, beginning, 

'^ In the tyme of Arthur, as trew men me tald." 

It is in stanzas of thirteen lines. 

39. Sir Qawan and Sir Galaron of QaUoway^ a Metrical Romance, 
in the same stanzas as no. 88, from an ancient MS. beginning thus : 

** In the tyme of Artnur an aunter ' betydde 
By the Turnwathelan, as the boke tells ; 
Whan he to Carlele was comen, and conqueror kyd," &c. 

Both these (which exhibit the union of the old alliterative metre, 
with rhyme, &c., and in the termination of each stanza the short triplets 
of the Timmament of Tottenham) are judged to be as old as the time of 
our King Henry VI., being apparently the production of an old poet, 
thus mentioned by Dunbar, in his *^ Lament for the Deth of the 
Makkaris :'' 

<* Clerk of Tranent eik he hes take. 
That made the aventors of Sir Gawane." 

It will scarce be necessary to remind the reader, that TumewaiheUm 
lA evidently Teame-Wadling, celebrated in the old ballad of the Marriage 
of Sir Gatoaine, — See p. 113, and no. xix. book ix. of this volume. 

Many new references, and perhaps some additional articles might be 
added to the foregoing list from Mr. Warton*s History of English Poetry, 
3 vols. 4to, and from the Notes to Mr. Tyrwhitt's improved edition of 

^ i,e, adventure. 



104 ON THE ANCIENT METBIOAL BOMANOES, BTO. 

Chaucer's Canterbury TcUe9, &o., in 5 vols. 8vo, which have been pub- 
lidhed since this Essay, &c., was first composed; but it will be sufficient 
once for all to refer the curious reader to those popular works. 

The reader will also see many interesting particulars on the subject 
of those volumes, as well as on most points or general literature, in Sir 
John Hawkins's curious History of Mttsie, A^, in 5 volumes, 4to ; tm 
also in Dr. Bumey's Hist,, &a, in 4 vols. 4to. 



ram ov TUB spsaiv. 



THB BOT AND THB MANTLB. 105 



Ci^e Sop antr i^t jlKantle 

Ib printed verbatim irom the old MS. described in the Preface. The 
Editor believes it more ancient than it will appear to be at first sight ; 
the transcriber of that manuscript having reduced the orthography and 
style in many instances to the standard of his own times. 

The incidents of the mantle and the knife have not, that I can 
recollect, been borrowed from any other writer. The former of these 
evidently suggested to Spenser his conceit of Florimel's girdle, b» vr. 
c. 5, St. 3. 

" That girdle gave the virtue of chaste love 
And wivehood true to all that did it beare ; 
But whosoever contrarie doth prove, 
Might not the same about her middle weare. 
But it would loose or else asunder teare." 

So it happened to the false Florimel, st. 16, when 

** ^being brought, about her middle small 

They thought to gird, as best it her became. 
But by no means they could it thereto frame. 
For ever as they fastned it, it loos'd 
And fell away, as feeling secret blame, &c. 

That all men wondred at the uncouth sight 
And each one thought as to their fancies came. 
But she herself did think it done for spight. 
And touohM was with secret wr^h and shame 
Therewith, as thing deviz'd her to defame : 
Then many other ladies likewise tride 
About their tender loynes to knit the same. 
But it would not on none of them abide. 
But when they thought it fast, eftsoones it was untidc 

Thereat all knights gan laugh and ladies lowre, 
Till that at last the gentle Amoret 
Likewise assayed to prove that girdle's powre. 
And having it about her middle set 
Did find it fit withouten breach or let, 
Whereat the rest gan greatly to envie. 
But Florimel exceedingly did frety 
And snatching from her hand,*' &c. 

As for the trial of the home, it is not peculiar to oar poet : it oecnrs !n 
the old romance, entitled Morte Arthur, which was translated oat ol 
French in the time of King Edward lY., and first printed anno 1484. 
From that romance Ariosto is thought to have borrowed his tale of the 



106 TUB BOY AND THE MANTLB. 

Enchanted Cup, o. 42, fto. — See Mr. Warton's Obseryations on the Faerie 
Queone, &c 

The Btory of the horn in Morte Arthur varies a good deal from this 
of our poet, as the reader will I'udge from the following extract : — " By 
the way they met with a knight that was sent from Morgan la Faye to 
King Arthur, and this knight had a fair home all garnished with gold, 
and the home had such a virtue, that there might no ladyeor gentle- 
woman drinke of that home, but if she were true to her husband : and 
If shoe were false she should spill all the drinke, and if shoe were tame 
unto her lorde, shoe might drink peaceably : and because of queene 
Ouenevor and in despite of Sir Lauucelot du Lake, this home was sent 
unto King Arthur/* This horn is intercepted and brought unto 
another king named Marke, who is not a whit more fortunate than the 
British hero; for he makes **his queene drinke thereof, and an hundred 
ladies moe, and there were but foure ladies of all those that drank 
cleane," of which number the said queen proves not to be one. — Book 
ii. chap. 22, ed. 1632. 

In other respects the two stories are so different, that we have just 
reason to suppose this ballad was written before that romance was 
translated into English. 

As for Queen Guenever, she is here represented no otherwise than in 
the old histories and romances. Holinshed observes, that " she was 
evil reported of, as noted of incontinence and breach of fiedth to fair 
husband."— Vol. i. p. 98. 

\* Such readers as have no relish for pure antiquity, will find 
A more modem copy of this ballad at the end of this volume. 

In the third day of May, 
To Carleile did come 
A kind curteous child, 
That cold much of wisdome. 

A kirtle and a mantle ,5 

This child had uppon, 
With * brotiches ' and ringes 
Full richelye bedone. 

He had a sute of silke 

About his middle drawne ; 10 

Without he cold of curtesye, 

He thought itt much shame. 

" God speed thee, King Arthur, 

Sitting at thy meate : 

And the goodly Queene Guenever 15 

I cannott her forgett. 

V. 7, branches. MS. 



THE BOY AND THE MANTL8. 107 

" I tell you, lords, in this hall, 

I hett you all to * heede,' 

Except you be the more surer, 

Is you for to dread." 20 

He plucked out of his * potemer,' 
And longer wold not dwell ; 
He pulled forth a pretty mantle, 
Betweene two nut-shells. 

" Have thou here, King Arthur, 25 

Have thou heere of mee ; 
Give itt to thy comely queene, 
Bhapen as itt is alreadye. 

" Itt shall never become that wiffe, 

That hath once done amisse : " 80 

Then every knight in the kings court 
Began to care for ' his.' 

Forth came dame Guenever ; 

To the mantle shee her * hied ;* 

The ladye shee was newfangle, 35 

But yett shee was affrayd. 

When shee had taken the mantle, 

She stoode as shee had beene madd : 

It was from the top to the toe 

As sheeres had itt shread. 40 

One while was it * gule,* 
Another while was itt greene ; 
Another while was it wadded ; 
111 itt did her beseeme. 

Another while was it blacke, 45 

And bore the worst hue : 

" By my troth," quoth King Arthur, 

" I thinke thou be not true." 

V. 18, heate. MS. V. 21, potervor. MS. 

V. 32, his wiflfe. MS. V. 34, bided. MS. 

V. 41, gaole. MS. 



108 THE BOY AND THE MANTLS. 

Sbee threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 50 

Fast, with a rudd redd, 

To her chamber can sheeflee. 

She curst the weaver and the walker 

That clothe that had wrought. 

And bade a vengeance on his crowne 55 

That hither hath itt brought. 

" I had rather be in a wood, 

Under a greene tree, 

Then in King Arthurs court 

Shamed for to bee." 60 

Eay called forth his ladye. 

And bade her come neere ; 

Sales, '' Madam, and thou be guiltyo, 

I pray thee hold thee there." 

Forth came his ladye, 65 

Shortlye and anon ; 
Boldlye to the mantle 
Then is shoe gone. 

When she had tane the mantle 

And cast it her about, 70 

Then was shee bare 

* Before all the rout.' 

Then every knight. 

That was in the kings court. 

Talked, laughed, and showted 75 

Full oft att that sport. 

She threw downe the mantle, 

That bright was of blee ; 

Fast, with a red rudd. 

To her chamber can shee flee. 8C 

Forth came an old knight 
Pattering ore a creede, 
And he proferred to this little boy 
Twenty markes to his meede, 

V. 75, lauged. MS. 



THE BOY AND THE MANTLE. 109 

And all the time of the Christmasse, 85 

Willinglye to ffeede ; 
For why this mantle might 
Doe his wiffe some need. 

When she had tane the mantle, 

Of cloth that was made, 90 

Shoe had no more left on her, 

But a tassell and a threed : 

Then every knight in the kings court 

Bade evill might shee speed. 

Bhee threw downe the mantle, 95 

That bright was of blee ; 
And fast, with a redd rudd, 
To her chamber can shee flee. 

Oraddocke called forth his ladyo, 

And bade her come in ; 100 

Saith, " Winne this mantle, ladye. 

With a litle dinne. 

** Winne this mantle, ladye. 

And it shal be thine. 

If thou never did amisse 105 

Since thou wast mine." 

Forth came Craddockes ladye, 

Shortlye and anon ; 

But boldlye to the mantle 

Then is shee gone. 110 

When she had tane the mantle. 

And cast it her about, 

Upp att her great toe 

It began to crinkle and crowt : 

Shee said, '* Bo we downe, mantle, 115 

And shame me not for nought. 

"Once I did amisse, 

I tell you certainlye, 

When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Under a greene tree ; 120 

When I kist Craddockes mouth 

Before he marryed mee.*' 



110 THE BOT AND THE MANTLl. 

When Bhee had her shreeven, 

And her sines shee had tolde, 

The mantle stoode about her 125 

Bight as shee wold, 

Seemelye of conlour, 

Glittering like gold : 

Then every knight in Arthurs court 

Did her behold. 130 

Then spake dame Guenever 
To Arthur our king ; 
'* She hath tane yonder mantle 
Not with right, but with wronge. 

" See you not yonder woman, 135 

That maketh her self soe ' cleane '? 
I have seene tane out of her bedd 
Of men fiveteene ; 

'* Priests, clarkes, and wedded men 

From her, bedeene : 140 

Yett shee taketh the mantle, 

And maketh her self cleane." 

Then spake the little boy, 

That kept the mantle in hold ; 

Sayes, " King, chasten thy wiflfe, 146 

Of her words shee is to bold : 

'* Shee is a bitch and a witch, 

And a whore bold : 

King, in thine owne hall 

Thou art a cuckold." 160 

The little boy stoode 
Looking out a dore ; 
' And there as he was lookinge 
He was ware of a wyld bore.' 

V 134, Wright. MS. V. 136, cleare. MS. 

V. 140, by deene. MS. 



THE BOY AND THE WANTLB. Ill 

He was ware of a wyld bore, 165 

Wold have werryed a man : 

He pulld forth a wood kniffe, 

Fast thither that he ran : 

He brought in the bores head. 

And quitted him like a man. 160 

He brought in the bores head, 

And was wonderous bold : 

He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe 

Carve itt that cold. 

Some rubbed their knives 166 

Uppon a whetstone : 

Some threw them under the table, 

And said they had none. 

King Arthur and the child 

Stood looking upon them ; 170 

All their knives edges 

Turned backe againe. 

Craddocke had a little knive 

Of iron and of Steele ; 

He britled the bores head 176 

Wonderous weele, 

That every knight in the kings court 

Had a morssell. 

The little boy had a home. 

Of red gold that ronge : 180 

He said there was " noe cuckolde 

Shall drinke of my home. 

But he shold it sheede, 

Either behind or befome." 

Some shedd on their shoulder, 186 

And some on their knee ; 

He that cold not hitt his mouthe. 

Put it in his eye : 

And he that was a cuckold 

Every man might him see. 190 

V. 170, them upon. MS. V. 175, or birtled. MS 



114 THB MABBIAOI OT 8IB OAWAZR. 

And when Le came to Teame-Wadlinga 

Bcnothe the caatle walle : U 

** Gome forth, oome forth, thou provide bu&na^ 
Or yielde thyself my ihralle." 

On magicke gronnde that casUe atoode^ 

And fenc*d with many a spelle : 
Noe Taliant knighte ooidd tread thareon, U 

Bat straite his courage felle. 

Forth then msh'd that carlish knight^ 

King Arthur felte the charme : 
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe, 

Downe sunke his feeble arma 60 

" Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthtuo^ 

Now yield thee unto mee ; 
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande^ 

Noe better termes maye bee : 

" Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood, 56 

And promise on thy faye, 
Here to retume to Teame-Wadling, 

Upon the new-yeare's day, 

*' And bringe me worde what thing it is 
All women moste desyre : 70 

This is thy ransome, Arthur," he sayes, 
" He have noe other byre." 

King Arthur then helde up his hande, 

And sware upon his faye. 
Then tooke his leave of the grimme barbne, 75 

And faste hee rode awaye. 

And he rode east, and he rode west. 

And did of all inquyre. 
What thing it is all women crave, 

And what they most desyre. 80 

Some told him riches, pompe, or state ; 

Some rayment fine and brighte ; 
Some told him mirthe ; some flatterye ; 

And some a joUye Imighte. 



9HB MARBtAGS OF SIB 6AWATNX. 115 

In letters all King Arthur wrote, 85 

And seal'd them with his ringe : 
But still his minde was helde in doubte« 

Each tolde a different thinge. 

As ruthfolle he rode over a more, 

He saw a ladje, sette 90 

Betweene an oke and a greene hoUeye, 

All clad in red^ scaiiette. 

Her nose was crookt and turned outw^rde, 

Her chin stoode all awrye ; 
And where as sholde have been her mouthe, 95 

Lo I there was set her eye : 

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute 

Her cheekes of deadlye howe : 
A worse-form'd ladye than she wm, 

No man mote ever viewe. 100 

To hail the king in seemelye sorts 

This ladye was f ulle faine : 
But King Arthure, all sore amaz'd, 

No aunswere made againe. 

" What wight art thou," the ladye sayd, 105 

'* That wilt not speake to mee ; 
Sir, 1 may chance to ease thy paine, 

Though I bee foule to see." 

" If thou wilt ease my paine," he sayd, 

<< And helpe me in my neede, 110 

Ask what iJiou wilt, thou grimme lady^. 

And it shall bee thy meede." 

" sweare mee this upon the roode, 

And promise on thy faye ; 
And here the secrette I will telle, 115 

That shall thy ransome paye." 

' This was a common phrase in oar old writers; so Chancer, iu his 
Hologae to the Cant. Tales, says of the Wife of Batii . 

" Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red." 

I 2 



116 THI MABRIAGS OF SIB QAWAim. 

King Arthur promiB'd on his fttye, 

And Bware upon the roodo ; 
The secretto then the ladye told. 

As lightlye well shce oou'de. 120 

** Now this shall be my paye, Sir King, 

And this my guerdon bee, 
That some yong, fair and oonrtlye knight 

Thou bringe to marrye mee." 

Fast then pricked King Arthure 125 

Ore hille, and dale, and downe : 
And soone he founde the barone's bowra^ 

And soone the grimme baroune. 

He kare his clubbe upon his backe, 

Hee stoode bothe stiffs and stronge ; 180 

And, when he had the letters reade, 

Awaye the lettres flunge. 

^ Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy landf^ 

All forfeit unto mee ; 
For this is not thy paye, Sir King, 186 

Nor may thy ransome bee." 

*< Tet hold thy hand, thou proud bar^e, 

I pray thee hold thy hand ; 
And give mee leave to speake onoe more 

In reskewe of my land. 140 

** This mome, as I came oyer a more, 

I saw a ladye, sette 
Betwene an oke and a greene holl^yey 

All clad in red scarl^tte. 

** Shoe sayes, all women will baye their willOy 146 

This is their chief desyre ; 
Now yield, as thou art a barone true. 

That I haye payd mine hyre." 

^ An earlye yengeaunoe light on her l" 

The carlish baron swore : 160 

** Shoe was my sister tolde thee this. 

And shee's a mishapen whore. 



THX MABBIAGB OF SIB OAWAINE. 117 

'* Bat here I will make mine avowe, 

To do her as ill a tome : 
For an ever I may that foule tiieefe gette, 155 

In a fyre I will her bume." 

PABT THE SECOND. 

HoM EWABDB pricked King Arth^kre, 

And a wearye man was hee ; 
And soone he mette Queene Gueneyer, 

That bride so bright of blee. 

*' What newes I what newes I thou noble king, 5 

Howe, Arthur, hast thon sped ? 
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte ? 

And where bestow d his head ? " 

^ The carlish knight is safe for mee. 

And free fro mortal harme : 10 

On magicke grounde his castle stands. 

And fenc'd with many a charme. 

" To bow to him I was fulle faine, 

And yielde mee to his hand : 
And but for a lothly ladye, there 15 

I sholde have lost my land. 

** And nowe this fills my hearte with woe^ 

And sorrowe of my life ; 
I swore a yonge and conrtlye knight 

Sholde marry her to his wife." 20 

Then bespake him Sir Gaw^e, 

That was ever a gentle knighte : 
" That lothly ladye I will wed ; 

Therefore be merrye and lighte." 

" Now naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawidne, 26 

My sister's sonne yee bee ; 
This lothlye ladye's all too grimme. 

And all too foule for yee. 

" Her nose is crookt and tum'd outw^de, 

Her chin stands all awrye ; 30 

▲ worse form'd ladye than shoe is 
Was never seen with eye." 



118 THX ICABBIAGX OF 8IB OAWAINl. 

What though her chin stand all awrye, 
And shee be foole to see ; 
I'll marry her, ankle, for thy sake, 85 

And I'll thy ransome bee." 

'* Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Qawidne, 

And a blessing thee betyde ! 
To-morrow wee'll have knights and squires, 

And wee'U goe fetch thy bride. 40 

*' And wee'U have hawkes and wee'll haye honndes 

To cover our intent ; 
And wee'll away to the greene for^t, 

As wee a hunting went." 

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, 45 

They rode with them that daye ; 
And foremoste of the companye 

There rode the stewarde Eaye : 

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Qarratte keene ; 50 

Sir Tristram too, that gentle Imight, 

To the forest freshe and greene. 

And when they came to the greene forr^st, 

Beneathe a fedre holley tree. 
There sate that ladye in red scarl^tte, 55 

That unseemelye was to see. 

Sir Eay beheld that lady's face, 

And looked upon her sweere ; 
^ Whoeyer kisses that ladye," he sayes^ 

'* Of his kisse he stands in feare." 60 

Sir Eay beheld that ladye againe, 

And looked upon her snout ; 
** Whoever kisses that ladye," he sayes, 

*' Of his kisse he stands in doubt." 

«* Peace, brother Kay," sayde Sir Gawldne, 65 

*' And amend thee of thy life : 
For there is a knight amongst us all 

Must many her to his wSe.'* 



THK BtA&BIAGS OF SIB OA WAINS.' 119 

" What, marry this foule qneane ? " qnoth Kay, 

" r the devil's name anone ; 70 

Gette mee a wife wherever I maye, 
In sooth shee shall be none." 

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste, 

And some took np their honndes, 
And sayd they wolde not marry her 75 

For cities, nor for townes. 

Then bespake him King Arthnre, 

And sware there '* by this daye, 
For a little fonle sighte and mislikhige, 

Yee shall not say her naye." 80 

<* Peace, lordings, peace," Sir Gbwaine sayd, 

** Nor make debate and strife ; 
This lothlye ladye I will take, 

And marry her to my wife." 

" Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gkiwi^ine, 85 

And a blessinge be thy meede 1 
For as I am thine owne lady^, 

Thon never shalt me this deede." 

Then np they took that lothly dame, 

And home anone they bringe : 90 

And there Sir Gawaine he her wed, 

And married her with a ringe. 

And when they were in wed-bed laid, 

And all were done awaye : 
*' Come tome to mee, mine owne wed-lord, 95 

Gome tume to mee, I praye." 

Sir Gawaine scant oonld lift his head. 

For sorrowe and for care ; 
When lo I instead of that lotiielye dame, 

Hee sawe a young ladye faire. 100 

Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke, 

Her eyen were blacke as sloe : 
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippCi 

And all her neoke was snowe. 



120 THl MABBIAGl OV SIB GAWADn. 

Sir Gawaine kWd that lady fkure, 105 

Lying upon the sheete, 
And swoie, as he was a tme knighte* 

The spioe was never so sweete. 

Sir Gawaine kiss'd that lady brighte* 

Lying there by his side : 110 

** The fiBdrest flower is not soe hue : 

Thou never canst bee my bride." 

^ I am thy bride, mine owne deare lorde ; 

The same whiche thon didst knowe, 
That was soe lothlye, and was wont 115 

Upon the wild more to goe. 

*< Nowe, gentle Gawaine, obnse," qnoth shee, 

" And make thy choice with care ; 
Whether by night, or else by daye, 

ShaUIbefooleor&ire?" 120 

*' To have thee fonle still in the night, 

When I with thee should playe I 
I had rather farre, my lady deare, 

To have thee fonle by daye.*' 

*< What I when gaye ladyes goe with their lories 125 

To drinke the ale and wine ; 
Alas ! then I must hide myself, 

I most not goe with mine I " 

<< My faire lady V' Sir Gawaine sayd, 

'' I yield me to thy skiUe ; 130 

Becanse thou art mine owne ladyd, 

Thon Shalt have all thy wille." 

** Nowe blessed be tiion, sweete Gawaine, 

And the daye that I thee see ; 
For as thon seest mee at this time, 135 

Soe shall I ever bee. 

** My father was an aged knighte, 

And yet it chanced soe, 
-He tooke to wife a false ladyd, 

Whiche bron^te me to this woe. IM 



SmO BTEKOX'S OHALLENGB. 121 

^ Bliee witoh'd mee, bdng a faire yonge maide, 

In the greene forest to dwelle, 
And there to abide in lothlye shape, 

Most like a fiend of helle ; 

^ Midst mores and mosses, woods and wilds, 146 

To lead a lonesome life, 
Till some yong, faire and oonrtlye knighte 

Wolde marry e me to his wife : 

*' Nor folly to gaine mine owne trewe shape, 

8*ich was her devilish skille, 150 

Until he wolde yielde to be nil*d by mee, 
And let mee have all my wille. 

**' She witchd my brother to a oarlish boore, 

And made him stiffe and stronge ; 
And built him a bowre on magi<(;ke grounde, 155 

To live by rapine and wronge. 

< Bnt now the spelle is broken thronghe, 

And wronge is turnde to righte ; 
Henceforth I shall bee a fsdre lady^. 

And hee be a gentle knighte." 160 



IIL 

This song is more modem than manj of those which follow it, but is 
placed here for the sake of the subject. It was sung before Queen 
Elizabeth at the grand entertainmeDt at Kenilworth Castle in 1575, 
and was probably compoeed for that occasion. In a letter describing 
those festivities it is thus mentioned " A Minstral came forUi with 
a soUem song, warranted for story out of K. Arthur's acts, whereof I 
gat a copy and is this : 

" * So it fell out on a Pentecost,* " &c. 

After the song the narrative proceeds : ^ At this the Minstrell made 
a pause and a curtezy for Primus Passus. More of the song is l^oar, 
but I gaU it not." 

The story in Morte Arthur whenoe it is taken runs as follows : ** Camt 



122 Knra btxkos's ohalubnoi. 

a meesenger hastely from king Byence of North Wales, — BsMnfCf thai 
king Ryence had disoomfited and overoomen eleaven kmi^ and 
everiche of them did him homage, and that was this .* they gnye him 
their beards cleane flayne off, — wherefore the messenger oame for king 
Arthur's beard, for king Ryence hnd pnrfeled a mantell with kings 
beardSf and there lacked for one a place of the mantell, wherefore lie 
sent for his beurd, or else he would enter into his lands, and brenn ami 
slay, and never leave till he have thy head and thy beard. Well, said 
king Arthur, thou hast said thy message, which is the most villainous 
and lewdest message that ever man beard sent to a king. Also thoa 
mayest see my beard is full young yet for to make a purfeil of, but tell 
thou the king that — or it be long ne shall do to me homage on both his 
knees, or else he shall leese his head." [B. i. c. 24. 6ee also the same 
Romance, b. i. c 92.] 

The thought seems to be originally taken from Jeffl Monmoath's 
Hist. b. X. c. 8, which is alluded to by Drayton in his Poly-Olb., Song iv. 
and by Spenser in Faer. Qneene, vi 1, 13, 15.— See Warton s Obs^va- 
tions on Spenser, yoL ii. page 223. 

> The following text is composed of the best readings selected from 
three different copies. The nrst in Enderbie's Oambria Trinmphav is. 
p. 197. The second in the Letter above mentioned. And the thira 
inserted in MS. in a cop^ of Morte Arthur, 1682, in the BodL libnuy. 

Stow tells us that king Arthur kept his round table at " diyerse 
places, but especially at Garlion, Winchester, and Camalet in Somerset- 
shire.*' This Gamalet, " sometimes a famous towne or castle, is situate 
on a very high tor or hill," &c. [See an exact description in Stow's 
Annals, ed. 1681, p. 55.] 

As it fell out on a Pentecost day. 

King Artlior at Camelot kept his court royall. 
With his fairs qneene dame Guenever the gay, 

And many bold barons sitting in hall, 
With ladies attired in purple and pall, 5 

And heranlts in hewkes, hooting on high, 
Cryed, Largesae^ Largesse, Chevaliers tres-hardie.^ 

. A doughty dwarfe to the uppermost deas 

Bight pertlye gan pricke, kneeling on knee ; 

With steyen fWe stoute amids all the preas, 10 

Say'd, ^ Nowe Sir King Arthur, God save thee and see ! 

Sir Byence of North-Gkiles greeteth well thee. 
And bids thee thy beard anon to him send. 

Or else from thy jaws he will it off rend. 

* Largesse, Largesse. The heralds resonnded these words as oft as they 
received the bounty of the knights. See Mimoires ds la Chevalerie, tom. i. 
p. 99. — ^The expression is still used in the form of installing knights of thft 
garter. 



KING btknob's challenge. 123' 

^ For bis robe of state is a ricb scarlet mantle^ 15 

Witb eleven kings beards bordered^ about, 
And tbere is room lefte yet in a kantle, 
For tbine to stande, to make tbe twelfth out. 

This must be done, be thou never so stont ; 
This must be done, I tell thee no fable, 20 

Maugre the teethe of all thy Bound Table." 

When this mortal message from his mouthe past, 
Great was the noyse bothe in hall and in bower : 

Hie king fum*d ; the queene screecht ; ladies were aghast ; 
Princes pufiTd ; barons blustred ; lords began lower ; 25 
Knights stormed ; squires stajrtled, like steeds in a 
stower ; 

Pages and yeomen yell'd out in the hall ; 

Tl^ in came Sir Eay, the ' king's ' seneschaL 

** Silence, my soveraignes," quoth this courteous knight. 
And in that stound the stowro began still : 30 

' Then ' the dwarfe's dinner full deerely was dight ; 
Of wine and wassel he had his wille. 
And when he had eaten and drunken his fill, 

An hundred pieces of fine coyned gold 

Were giv^i tibiis dwarf for his message bold. 35 

"But say to Sir Byence, thou dwarf," quoth the king, 
'* That for his bold message I do him defye. 

And shortlye with basins and pans will him ring 
Out of North-GkJes ; where he and I 
With swords, and not razors, quickly shall trye, 40 

Whether he, or King Arthur, will prove the best barbor :" 

And therewith he shook his good sword Escalii.bor. 



%* Strada, in his Proludons, has ridiculed the story of the giant's 
mantle, made of the beards of kings. 

' «. e, set round th3 border, as taan are now round the gowns of magis* 
tratei. 



134 xnro abthub's death. 

IV. 

Stng ^t^va^H fieat|. 

A nULOMBNT. 

The subject of this ballad is eyidently taken from tbe old 
Morte Arthur, but with some yariations, espeoially in the conolnding 
stanzas; ia which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of 
the old Welsh bards, who ** believed that King Arthur was not dead, but 
oonyeied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, whsro he should 
remaine for a time, and then retume agaiiie and reign in as great 
authority as oyer." — Holinshed, b. y. c 14; or, as it is expressed m an 
old Chronicle printed at Antwerp 1493, by Ger. de Leew, ** The Bre- 
tons supposen, that he [K. Arthur] — shall come yet and oonqoere all 
Bretai^e, for certes this is the prophioye of Merlyn : He sayd, that 
his deth shall be doubteous ; and sayd soth, for men thereof yet have 
doubte, and shullen for ever more, — ^for men wyt not whether thai be 
lyveth or is dede." — See more ancient testimonies in Selden*s Notes on 
Poly Olbion, Song iiL 

This fragment, being yery incorrect and imperfect in the original M8^ 
hath receiyed some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement of 
three or four stanzas composed from the romance of JBdoiie Artkwr. 

On Trinitye Mondaye in tbe mome. 
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee. 

Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye ! 
Alacke, it was the more pittie. 

Ere tiie first crowinge of the cocke, 6 

When as the kinge in his bed laye, 
He thoughte Sir Gawaine to him came,^ 

And there to him these wordes did saye : 

*' Nowe, as yon are mine nnkle deare. 

And as you prize your life, this daye 10 

O meet not vnth yonr foe in fighte ; 

Putt off the battayle, if yee maye. 

** For Sir Lanncelot is nowe in Fraunoe, 
And with him many an hardye knighte : 

Who will within this moneth be backe, 15 

And will assiste yee in the fighte." 

* Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his retors from 
abroad. — See the next ballad, ver. 73. 



XING ABTHUb's DIATH. 125 

The kinge then call'd Ids nobles all. 

Before the breakinge of the daye ; 
And told them howe Sir Gbwaine came, 

And there to him these wordes did saye. 20 

His nobles all this comisayle gave, 

That earlye in the morning, hee 
Shold send awaye an herauld-at-armes^ 

To aske a parley faire and hee. 

Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose, 25 

The best of all that with him were, 
To parley with the foe in field, 

imd make with him agreement Dure. 

The king he charged all his hoste. 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 8C 

But noe man shold noe weapon sturre, 

IJnlesse a sword drawne tiiey shold see. 

And Mordred, on the other parte, 
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe, 

The best of all his companye, 35 

To hold the parley with the kinge. 

Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste. 

In readinesse there for to bee ; 
But noe man sholde noe weapon stnrre. 

Bat if a sworde drawne they shold see. 40 

For he dnrste not his nnkle troste. 

Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell ; 
Alacke I it was a woef ulle case, 

As ere in Christentye befelle. 

But when they were together mette, 45 

And both to faire accordance broughte^ 

And a month's league betweene them sette, 
Before the battayle sholde be foughte. 

An addere crept forth of a bnshe, 

Stunge one o' th' king's knightes on the knee ; 50 
Alacke ! it was a woefnlle chiuice, 

As ever was in Christentie. 

Yer. 41, 42, the folio MS. reads father .... eoaae. 



126 KINO ABTHUBS DKATS. 

WHen the knighte found him wounded sore, 
And sawe the wild-worm hanginge there, 

His sworde he from his soabberde drewe ; 55 

A piteous case, as ye shall heare. 

For when the two hostes sawe the sworde, 

They joyned battayle instantlye ; 
Till of soe manye noble knightes, 

On one side tiiere were left but three. 60 

For all were slain that durst abide, 

And but some fewe that fled awaye : 
Ay mee I it was a bloodye fielde, 

As ere was f oughte on a summer's daye. 

Upon King Arthur's own partyd, 65 

Onlye himselfe escaped there. 
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free, 

And the king's butler Bedevere. 

And when the king beheld his knightes 

All dead and scattered on the molde, 70 

The teares fast trickled downe his face ; 
That manlye face in fight so bolde. 

** Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he said, 

*' Soe true and faithful to your trust : 
And must yee then, ye valiant hearts, 75 

Be lefte to moulder into dust I 

"Most loyal have jee been to mee. 

Most true and fiEiithf ul unto deatiie : 
And, oh 1 to rayse yee up againe, 

How fpeelye could I yield my breathe I 80 

'* But see, the traitor's yet alive I 

Lo where hee stalkes among the deade I 

Nowe bitterlye he shall abye : 

And vengeance fall upon his head" 

" O staye, my liege," then sayd the duke ; 86 

" O staye for love and charitie ; 
ftemember what the vision spake. 

Nor meete your foe, if it may bee." 



KiKG arthub's death. 127 

* staye mee not, thou worthye wigbt. 

This debt my loyal knights I owe : 90 

Betide me life, betide me death, 

I will avenge them of their foe." 

Then straite he grasp'd his trnstye speare, 

And on his horse then mounted hee : 
As his butler holpe him to his horse, 95 

His bowels godied to his knee. 

** Alas ! " then sayd the noble king, 
*^ That I should live this sight to see f 

To see this good knight here be slaine, 
All for his love in helping mee I" 100 

He put his speare into his reste, 

And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye ; 
" No we sette thyself upon thy guarde, 

For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye," 

Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde, 106 

And fierce to meet the king ran hee : 
The king his speare he through him thrust, 

A fathom thorow his bodie. 

When Mordered felt the stroke of death. 

And found that he was wounded soe, 110 

He thrust himselfe upon the speare, 
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe. 

Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered, 

Presentlye upon that tree : 
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge, 115 

Ere to the duke returned hee. 

Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake : 

'' Sir Enighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde ; 
Nowe take my sword Excalibar,^ 

That hangs so freelye by my syde ; 120 

" take my sword Excalibar, 

And there into the river throwe : 
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree. 

All use of weapons I foregoe. 

' Hore commonly called Calibitm, In the folio MS. Eacalberd. 



138 KlirO ABTHUB'g DBATB. 

<* And fare thee well, thou trostye swozd, ISK 

A better neer had valiant knigbte ; 
With thee full ofte, and many a daye. 

Have I withstood my foe in fighte. 

With this good fanchion in my hande^ 
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde : 180 

Bnt nowe the fatalle honre is come, 
That never more I may thee weelde.'' 

The dake to the river side he went, 

And there his owne sword in threwe he ; 

But he kept back Excalibar, 135 

He kept it back in privitie. 

For all of ooleyne was the blade, 

And all the hilte of precious stone : 
** And ever alacke I" then sayd the knighte, 

" Most such a sword awaye be throwne ? ** 140 

Then backe he came unto the kinge, 
Who sayd, ** Sir Lukyn, what did yee see ? " 

^ Nothing, my liege, save that the wmde 
Blewe oer the waters faire and free." 

« goe againe," then said the kinge, 146 

" good Sir Lukyn, goe againe : 
Into the rivere throwe my sword. 

Nor keepe me lingering here in paine." 

The duke then to the river went. 

And the kings scabberd in threwe hee ; 150 

But hee kept backe Excalibar, 

And hid it undemethe a tree. 

Then backe he came to tell the kinge. 

Who sayde, " Sir Lukyn, sawe ye onghte ? * 

^ Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde 155 

Nowe with flie angrye waters fought," 

** O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge, 
*' Twice haste thou dealt deceySidlye : 

Alacke, whom may wee ever truste, 

When suche a knighte soe false can bee 1 16C 



DUO ABTHim's DEATH. 129 

• Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead. 
All for a sword that wins thine eye ? 

Now goe againe, and throwe it in, 
Or here the one of us shall dye." 

The duke, all shent with this rebuke, 165 

No aunswere made unto the kinge ; 
But to the rivere tooke the sworde, 

And threwe it far as he coulde flinge. 

A hande and an arme did meete the sworde. 

And flourishd three times in the air ; 170 

Then sunke benethe the renninge streme, 
And of the duke was seene noe mair. 

All sore astonied stood the duke, 

He stood as still, as still mote bee ; 
Then hastend backe to telle the kinge, 175 

But he was gone from under the tree. 

But to what place he cold not tell. 

For never after hee did him spye ; 
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land, 

And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.^ 180 

And whether the kinge were there or not, 

Hee never knewe, nor ever colde ; 

For from that sad and direfulle daye, 

Hee never more was seene on molde. 

« « 

« 

V. 178, see MS. 
• Not unlike that passage in Virgil : 

" Summoqne ulularunt vertice nympha." 

Ladies was the word our English writers used for nymj^: m ia th* 
Ibllowing lines of an old soi\g in the Editor's folio MS. 

" When scorching Phoebus he did mount, 
Then Lady Venus went to hunt : 

To whom Diana did resort, 
With all the Ladyes of hills, and valleys, 
Of springs, and floodes," &c. 



TOL. n; 



180 TBM LIGKND OF KUTG ABTHUB. 

C|^e legmti of Wiinz flrti^ur. 

We have here a uhort summary of King Arthur's histoiT as given hy 
Jeff, of Monmouth and the old Chronicles, with the addition of a few 
oircumstanoes from the romance Jllorte Arthur. The ancient chronicle 
of Grer. de Leew (quoted above in p. 124), seems to have been chiefly 
followed : upon the authority of which we have restored some of the 
nsmes which were corrupted in the MS. and have transposed one stanaa, 
which appeared to be misplaced [vie. that beginning at v. 49, which in 
«he MS. followed V. 361. 
Printed from the Editor's ancient folio MS. 

Of Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne, 

King Arthur I am to name ; 
Through Ghristendome and Heathynesse 

Well knowne is my worthy fame. 

In Jesus Obrist I doe beleeve ; 5 

I am a Cbristyan bore ; 
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost, 

One God, I doe adore. 
In the four hundred ninetieth yeere, 

Oer Brittaine I did rayne, 10 

After my Savior Christ his byrth, 

What time I did maintaine 
The fellowshipp of the Table Bound, 

Soe famous in those dayes ; 
Whereatt a hundred noble knights 15 

And thirty sat alwayes : 

Who for their deeds and martiall feates^ 

As bookes done yett record, 
Amongst all other nations 

Wer feared through the world 20 

And in the castle off Tyntagill 

King Uther mee begate, 
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye, 

And come of * hie ' estate. 

Ver. 1, Bruite his. MS. 

V. 9, He began his reign a.d. 515, according to the Chronicles. 

T. 23 She is naired Igema in the old Chronicles. V. 24» his. MSL 



TttK LaOXKB or KCfO ARTHUB. 131 

And when I was fifteen yeeie old, 25 

Then was I crowned kinge : 
All Brittaine, that was att an npr&re, 

I did to qaiett bringe ; 

And droye the Saxons from the reahne, 

Who had opprest this land ; 80 

All Scotland then, thronghe manly feates, 
I oonqaered with my hand. 

Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye, 

These conntryes wan I all ; 
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland ; 35 

And made their kings my thralL 

I conquered all Gallya, 

That now is called France ; 
And slew the hardye Froll in feild, 

My honor to advance. 40 

And the ugly gyant Dynabns, 

Soe terrible to vewe, 
That in Saint Bamards monnt did lye, 

By force of armes I slew. 

And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome, 45 

I brought to deadly wracke ; 
And a thousand more of noble knightes 

For feare did tome their backe. 

Five kinges of * paynims * I did k'll 

Amidst that bloody strife ; 50 

Besides the Grecian emperour, 
Who alsoe lost his lifTe. 

Whose carcasse I did send to Eome, 

Gladd poorlye on a beere; 
And afterward I past Mouut-Joye 55 

The next approaching yeere. 

V. 39, Froland field. MS. Froll, according to the Chronicles, was a 
Eoman knight, goremor of GauL 

V. 41, Danibiw. MS. V. 49, of Pavye. MS 

K 2 



192 THB LEGEND OF KIN'O ABTBUM* 

Then I came to Rome, where I was mett 

Eight as a conquerour, 
Aud by all the cardiualls solempnelye 

I was crowned an emperonr. €0 

One winter there I made abode, 

Then word to mee was brought, 
How Mordred had opprcssd the crowney 

What treason he had wrought 

Att home in Brittaine with my queene : 65 

Therfore I came with speede 
To Brittaine backe, with all my power, 
To quitt that traiterous deede ; 

And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde, 

Where Mordred me withstoode : 70 

But yett at last I landed there, 

With effosion of much blood. 

For there my nephew Sir Gktwaine dyed. 

Being wounded in that sore 
The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight 76 

Had given him before. 

Then chased I Mordered away, 

Who fledd to London right, 
From London to Winchester, and 

To Gomewalle tooke his flyght 80 

And still I him pursued with speed, 

Till at the last wee mett ; 
Wherby an appointed day of fight 

Was there agreed and sett : 

Where we did fight, of mortal life 85 

Eche other to deprive. 
Till of a hundred thousand men 

Scarce one was left alive. 

There all the noble chivalrye 

Of Brittaine tooke their end. 90 

O see how fickle is their state 

That doe on fates depend I 

y. 02, feates. MS. 



A DYTTIB TO HEY DOWNE. 133 

There all the traiteroos men were slaine. 

Not one escapte away ; 
And there dyed all my vallyant knlghtes. 95 

Alas I that woefull day I 

Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne 

In honor and great fame, 
And thus by death was suddenlye 

Deprived of the same. 100 



VI. 
9 S^ttte to l^t^ Sobne. 

Gopied from an old MS. in the Cotton library [Vesp. A 25], entitled 
•* Divers things of Hen. viij's time." 

Who sekes to tame the blustering winde, 
Or causse the floods bend to his wyll, 

Or els against dame nature's kinde 

To * change ' things frame by cunning skyll : 

That man I thinke bestoweth paine, 5 

Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who strives to breake the sturdye Steele, 
Or goeth about to staye the sunne ; 

Who thinks to causse an oke to reele, 

Which never can by force be done : 10 

That man likewise bestoweth paine, 
Thoughe that his laboure be in vaine. 

Who thinks to stryve against the streamer 
And for to sayle without a raaste ; 

Unlesse he ,thinks perhapps to faiue, 15 

His travell ys forelorne and waste ; 

And so in cure of all his paine, 
His travell ys his cheflest gaine, 

Yer. 4, caasse. MS. 



181 GLASOXRIOir. 

So he lykewise, that goes abont 

To please echo eye and every eare^ 20 

Had node to have withonten doubt 

A goldeu gyft with him to beare ; 
For evyll report shall be his gaine, 
Though he bestowe both toyle and paine. 

God grant echo man one to amend ; 25 

Grod send us all a happy place ; 
Aud let us pray unto the end 

That we may haye our princes grace. 
Amen, amen I so shall we gaine 

A dewe reward for all our paine. 80 



vn. 

An ingenious Mend thinks that the following old ditty (which j« 
printed from the Editor's folio MS.) may possibly have given birth 
to the Tragedy of The Orphany in which Polidore intercepts Monimia's 
intended favours to Gastalio. 

See what is said concerning the hero of this song (who is celebrated 
by Chaucer under the name of Glaskyrion), in the Essay prefixed to 
vol. i., note (h), part iv. (2). 

Glasgebion was a kings owne sonue, 

And a harper he was goode ; 
He harped in the kings ohambere, 

Where cuppe and caudle stoode, 

And soe did hee in the queens chambere, 5 

Till ladies waxed * glad, ' 
And then bespake the kinges daughter. 

And these wordes thus shee sayd : 

*' Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, 

Of thy striking doe not blinne ; 10 

Theres neyer a stroke comes oer thy harpe, 

But it glads my hart withinne." 

Yer. 6, wood. MS 



OLASGEBIOir. 135 

* Fairo might ho fall," qnoth hee, 

" Who taught you nowe to speake I 
I haye loved you, ladye, seyen longe yeere, 15 

My minde I neere durst breake." 

• But come to my bower, my Glasgerion, 

When all men are att rest : 
As I am a ladie true of my promise. 

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest." 20 

Home then came Glasg^rion, 

A glad man, lord I was hee : 
'* And, come thou hither, Jacke my boy. 

Gome hither unto mee. 

^ For the kinges daughter of Normandye 25 

Hath granted mee my boone ; 
And att her chambere must I bee 

Beffore the cocke haye crowen." 

^ O master, master," then quoth hee, 

'* Lay your head downe on this stone ; 80 

For I will waken you, master deere, 

Afore it be time to gone." 

But up then rose that lither ladd. 

And hose and shoone did on ; 
A coUer he cast upon his necke, 85 

Hee seemed a gentleman. 

And when he came to the ladyes chamber, 

He thrild upon a pinn:^ 
The lady was true of her promise, 

And rose and lett him inn. 40 

He did not take the lady gaye 

To boulster nor to bed : 
' Nor thoughe hee had his wicked wiUe, 

A single word he sed.' 

V. 16, harte. MS. 
* This is elsewhere expressed * twirled the pin,* or ' tirled at the pin,* [see 
b. viii. s. vi r. 3,] and seems to refer to the turning ronnd the bntton on 
tha ootsid* of a door, by which the latch rises, still nsed in cottages. 



186 GLASOEBIOir. 

He did not kiflse that ladyes monthe^ 45 

Nor when he came, nor yode : 
And sore that ladye did mistrust, 

He was of some churls bloud. 

But home then came that lither ladd. 

And did off his hose and shoone ; 50 

And cast the coller from off his necke : 

He was but a churl^s sonne. 

" Awake, awake, my deero master. 

The cock hath well-nigh crowen ; 
Awake, awake, my master doere, 55 

I hold it time to be gone. 

" For I have saddled your horse, master. 

Well bridled I have your steede. 
And I have served you a good breakfast, 

For thereof ye have need." 60 

Up then rose good Glasgerion, 

And did on hose and shoone, 
And cast a coller about his necke : 

For he was a kinge his sonne. 

And when he came to the ladyes chambere, 65 

He thrilled upon the pinne ; 
The lady was more than true of promise. 

And rose and let him inn. 

" whether have you left with me 

Your bracelet or your glove ? 70 

Or are you returned backe againe 

To kaow more of my love ? " 

Glasgerion swore a full great othe, 

By oake, and ashe, and thorne ; 
" Ladye, I was never in your chambere, 75 

Sith the time that I was borne." 

" O then it was your lither foot-page, 

He hath beguiled mee : " 
Then shoe pulled forth a little pen-kniffe, 

That hanged by her knee. 80 

V. 77, litle. MS. 



OLD BOBIN OF POBTINOALX. 187 

Bayos, " There sliall never noe chnrl^s blood 

Within my bodye spring : 
No churl^s blood shall eer defile 

The daughter of a kinge." 

Home &en went Glaagerion, 85 

And woe, good lord I was hee : 
Sayes, " Gome thou hither, Jacke my boy, 

Gome hither unto mee. 

^ If I had killed a man to-night, 

Jacke, I would tell it thee : 90 

But if I have not killed a man to-night, 

Jacke, thou hast killed three." 

And he puld out his bright browne sword, 

And dryed it on his sleeve, 
And he smote off that lither ladds head, 95 

Who did his ladye grieve. 

He sett the swords poynt till his brest, 

The pummil untill a stone : 
Throw the falsenesse of that lither ladd, 

These three lives were all gone. 100 

V. 100, werne all. MS. 



vm. 

i&Ot Vioiin of jPotttngale. 

From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS., which was jndged to 
reanire considerable corrections. 

In the former edition, the hero of this piece had been oaUed Sii 
Bobin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted. 

Let never again soe old a man 

Marrye soe yonge a wife 
Ls did old Bobin of Portdngale, 

Who may rue all the dayes of his life. 



138 OLD BOBDT OF POBTINOALV. 

For the mayors dangbter of Lin, God wott, 5 

He chose her to his wife, 
And thought with her to haye liyed in loro. 

But they fell to hate and strife. 

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid, 

And scarce was hee asleepe, 10 

But upp shoe rose, and forth shoe goes 
To the steward, and gan to weepe. 

** Sloepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles ? 

Of be you not within ? 
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles, 15 

Arise and let me inn." 

'* 0, 1 am waking, sweete," he said, 

" Sweete ladye, what is your will ?** 
'' I have unbethought me of a wile, 

How my wed-lord weell spill. 20 

" Twenty-four good knights," shoe sayes, 

'' That dwell about this towne. 
Even twenty-four of my next cozens. 

Will helpe to dinge him downe." 

All that beheard his litle foote-page, 25 

As ho watered his masters steed. 
And for his masters sad perille 

His verry heart did bleed. 

He mourned, sighed, and wept full sore ; 

I sweare by the holy roode, 30 

The teares he for his master wept 

Were blent water and blonde. 

And that beheard his deare master 

As he stood at his garden pale : 
Saves, " Ever alacke, my litle foot-page, 85 

What causes thee to wail ? 

Ver. 19, unbethought [properly onbethoughf]; this word is still used iq 
the Midland counties in the same sentte as bethought 
y. 32, blend. MS. 



OLD BOBIN OF POBTINGALB. 189 

• Hath any one done to thee wronge, 

Any of thy fellowes here ? 
Or is any of thy good friends dead, 

That thou shedst manye a teare ? 40 

** Or, if it be my head bookes-man. 

Aggrieved he shal bee. 
For no man here within my howse, 

Shall doe wrong unto thee," 

*' 0, it is not your head bookes-man, 45 

Nor none of his degree, 
But on to-morrow, ere it be noone. 

All deemed to die are yee. 

** And of that bethank your head stewidrd. 

And thank your gay ladye." 50 

" If this bo true, my litle foot-page, 
The heyre of my land thoust bee." 

*' If it be not true, my dear mast^r^ 

No good death let me die." 
*< If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, 55 

A dead corse shalt thou lie. 

*' call now downe my faire ladye, 

call her downe to mee ; 
And tell my ladye gay how sicke, 

And like to die I bee." 60 

Downe then came his ladye faire, 

All clad in purple and pall. 
The rings that were on her fiiag^r s 

Cast Hght throughout the hall. 

" What is your will, my owne wed-lord ? 06 

What is your will with mee ? " 

* O see, my ladye deere, how sicke, 

And like to die I bee." 

^ And thou be sicke, my owne wed-lord, 

Soe sore it grieveth me, 70 

But my fiye maydens and myselfe 
Will * watch thy ' bedde for thee, 

▼. 47, or to-morrow. MS. V . bb, bee. MS. 

v. 72, make the. Ma 



140 OLD BOBDT OF POBTnfGAUL 

^ And at the waking of your first aleepe. 

We will a hott dnnke make ; 
And afc the waking uf your ' next ' sleepe 75 

Yoor Borrowes we will slake." 

He pat a silk cote on hia backe, 

And mail uf mauy a fold ; 
And hee patt a Steele cap on His head. 

Was gUt with good red gold ; SO 

He layd a bright browne sword by his aide. 

And another att his feete ; 
' And twentye good knights he placed at hand. 

To watch him in his sleepe.' 

And about the middle time of the night, 86 

Came twentye-fonr traitonrs inn : 
Sir Giles ho was the foremost man, 

The leader of that ginn. 

Old Robin with his bright browne sword 

Sir Gyles head soon did winn ; 90 

And scant of all those twenty-fonr 
Went out one quick agenn. 

None save only a litle foot-page, 

Crept forth at a window of stone, 
And he had two armes when he came in, 95 

And he went back with one. 

Upp then came that ladye gaye 

With torches burning bright ; 
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke, 

Butt she found her owne wedd-knight. 100 

The first thinge that she stumbled on, 

It was Sir Gyles his foote : 
Sayes, " Ever alacke, and woe is mee. 

Here lyos my sweote hart-roote I" 

The next thinge that she stumbled on, 105 

It was Sir Gyles his heade : 
Sayes, " Ever alacke, and woe is mee, 

Heere lyes my true love deade I " 

V. 75, first. MS. 



OHILD WATEBS. 141 

He cntt the pappes beside her brest, 

And didd her body spille; 110 

He cntt the eares beside her heade, 

And bade her love her filie. 

He called then up his litle foot page, 

And made him there his heyre ; 
And sayd, " Henceforth my worldlye goodes 115 

And countrye I forsweare." 

He shope the crosse on his right shoulder, 
Of the white * clothe ' and the redde,^ 

And went him into the Holy Land, . 

Wheras Christ was quicke and dead. 120 

V. 118, fleshe. MS. 

* Every person who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land, nsually 
wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shouJder, as a badge of his 
profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses of different 
oolonrs : the English wore white, the French red, &c. This circumstance 
seems to be confounded in the ballad. [V. Spelman, Gloss.] 

iV" In the foregoing piece, Giles, steward to a rich old merchant 
trading to Portugal, is qualified with the title of Str^ not as being 
a knight, but rather, I oonceive as having received an inferior order 
of priesthood. 



IX. 

ChUd is frequently used by our old writers as a title. It is repeatedly 
eiven to Prince Arthur in the Faerie Queene : and the son of a kins 
h in the same poem called Child Tristram [b. v. c. 11, st. 8, 13,— b. vi 
c. 2. St. 36, — ^ibid. c 8. st. 15]. In an old ballad quoted in Shakspeare's 
King Lear, the hero of Ariosto is called Child Boland. Mr. Theobald 
supposes this use of the word was received along with their romances 
from the Spaniards, with whom Infante signifies a Prince. A more 
eminent critic tells us, that ^* in the old times of chivaliy, the noble 
youth, who were candidates for knighthood, during the time of their 
probation were called Infant, VarleU, VamayseU, Bachdiers, The 
most noble of the youth were particularly called Infana** [Vide 
Warb. Shakesp.] A late commentator on Spenser observes, that the 
Saxon word cnihz knight, signifies also a ChUd, [See Upton's Uloss. 
to the Faerie Queene,'] 



142 OHILD WATEBfl. 

The Editor's MS. oollection, whence the foUov^-ing pieoe is takon, 
affords several other ballsMls, wherein the word ChUd ooours as a title : 
but in none of these it signifies Prince, — See the song entiUed Oil 
Morrioe in this volume. 

It ought to be observed that the word ChUd, or Chidd, is still used 
in North Britain to denominate a man, oonmionly witii some oon- 
temptuous character afiOxed to him, but sometimes to denote man in 
generaL 

Childb Waters in his stable stoode 

And stroakt his milke-white steede ; 
To him a fayre yonge ladye came 

As ever ware womans weede. 

Sayes, " Christ you save, good Childe WaierB,** 6 

Sayes, " Christ you save and see ; 
My girdle of gold that was too longe, 

Is now too short for mee. 

" And all is with one childe of yours 

I feele sturre at my side ; 10 

My gowne of greene it is too straighte ; 

Before, it was too wide." 

** If the childe be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd, 

'* Be mine, as you tell mee, 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both^ 15 

Take them your owne to bee. 

" If the childe be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd, 

" Be mine, as you doe sweare, 
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

And make that childe your heyre. " 20 

Shee sayes, " I had rather have one kisse, 

Childe Waters, of thy mouth, 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both. 

That lye by north and southe. 

" And I had rather have one twinkling, 25 

Childe Waters, of thine ee. 
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both, 

To take them mine owne to bee." 

Ver. 13, be inne, MS. 



CHILD WATHBS. 148 

•* To-moPTOwe, Ellen, I must forth ryde 

Farr into tlie north conntree ; 30 

The fayrest ladye that I can finde, 

EUen, must goe with mee." 

" * Thonghe I am not that ladye fayre, 

Yet let me goe with thee : ' 
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters, 35 

Your foot-page let me bee." 

^" If you will my foot-page beo, Ellen, 

As you doe tell to mee, 
Then you must cut your gowne of greene 

An inch above your knee : 40 

" Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes, 

An inch above your ee ; 
You must tell no man what is my name ; 

My foot-page then you shall bee." 

Shee, all the longe daye Childe Waters rode, 45 

Raji barefoote by his syde. 
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte, 

To say, ** Ellen, will you ryde ? " 

Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 

Ean barefoote thorow the broome, 50 

Yet was hee never soe courteous a knighte, 
To say, " put on your shoone." 

« Eide softlye," shee sayd, " O Childe Waters, 

Why doe you ryde so fast ? 
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55 

My bodye itt will brast." 

Hee sayth, " Seest thou yonder water, Ellen, 
That flows from banke to brimme ? " — 

« I trust in God, O Childe Waters, 

You never will see ^ me swinune." 60 

But when shee came to the water side, 

She say led to the chinne : 
" Nowe the Lord of heaven be my speede. 

For I must leame to swimme." 

^ ue, permit, suffer, ke» 



144 OHTLD WATXBS. 

Tlio salt waters bare np her clothes; 65 

Our Lodye bare up her chinne ; 
Childo Waters was a woe man, good Lord* 

To see faire Ellen swimme 1 

And when shee over the water was, 

Shee then came to his knee : 70 

Hco sayd, \* Come hither, thou fayre Ellen, 

Loe yonder what I see. 

" Seest then not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd gold shines the yate : 
Of twenty-foure faire ladyes there, 76 

The fairest is my mate. 

** Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen ? 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
There are twenty-four fayre ladyes there, 

The fayrest is my paramoure." 80 

" I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 

Of redd golde shines the yate : 
God give you good now of yourselfe, 

And of your worthye mate. 

" I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 86 

Of redd golde shines the towre : 
God give you good now of yourselfe. 

And of your paramoure." 

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were 

A playing at the ball, 90 

And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there. 

Must bring his steed to the stall. 

There twenty-four fayre ladyes were 

A playinge at the chesse. 
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there, 95 

Must bring his horse to gresse. 

And then bespake Childe Waters sister. 

These were the wordes sayd shee : 
* You have the prettyest page, brother. 

That ever I did see ; 100 

Ter. 84, woildly. MS. 



CHILD WATEBB. 115 

* But tbat hia bellye it is so l»gge, 

His girdle stands soe hye ; 
And eyer I pray you, Childe Waters, 
Let him in my chamber lye." 

*' It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105 

That has jun thronghe mosse and myre, 

To lye in the chamber of any ladye, 
That weares soe riche attyre. 

* It is more meete for a little foot-page, 

That has run thronghe mosse and myr^ 110 

To take his supper upon his knee, 
And lye by the kitchen fyre." 

Now when they had supped eyery one. 

To bedd they tooke thoyr waye : 
He sayd, *' Come hither, my little foot^page, 115 

And hearken what I saye. 

** Goe thee downe into yonder towne, 

And lowe into the streete ; 
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde, 

Hyre in mine armes to sleepe ; 120 

And take her up in thine armes twaine, 

For filing « of her feete." 

Ellen is gone into the towne. 

And lowe into the streete ; 
The fayrest ladye that shoe colde finde 125 

She hyred in his armes to sleepe ; 
And tooke her up in her armes twaine, 

For filing of her feete. 

" I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters, 

Let mee lye at your feete ; 130 

For there is noe place about this house. 
Where I may 'saye a sleepe." 

* Ho gave her leave, and fair Ellen 

' Down at his beds feet laye ; 
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135 

And when it was neare the daye, 

V. 132, %. e, essay, attempt. 
s t: 0. defiling. See Wai>koii's OUerr. to), ii. p. 158. 

▼OL. n. >• 



U6 CHILD WATSES. 

Hee sajd, << Biae np, my little foot-pftg«^ 

Give my steede oorne and liaye ; 
And give him nowe the good black oatea» 

To oarxjr mee better awaye." 140 

Up then rose the faire Ellen, 

And gave his steede oorne and haye; 
And soe shoe did the good black oates, 

To carry him the better awaya 

She leaned her back to the manger side, 145 

And grioTooslye did groane ; 
She leaned her back to the manger side, 

And there shoe made her moane. 

And that beheard his mother deare, 

Shoe heard • her woefdll woe : ' 150 

Shoe sayd, ** Bise np, thou Childe Waters^ 

And into thy stable goe. 

^For in thy stable is a ghost, 

That grievonslye doth grone ; 
Or else some woman laboures with childe, 155 

Shoe is soe woe-begone." 

Up then rose Childe Waters soone, 

And did on his shirte of silke ; 
And then he put on his other clothes. 

On his bodye as white as milke. 160 

And when he came to the stable dore, 

Full still there hee did stand, 
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen, 

Howe shoe made her monand. 

She sayd, *< Lullabye, mine own dear childe^ 1G5 

Luliabye, deare childe, deare ; 
I wolde thy father were a kinge, 

Thy mothere layde on a biere." 



PBILLIDA AND OOBYDOR. 117 

" Peace nowe," liee sayd, " good, faire Ellen, 

Bee of good cheere, I praye ; 170 

And the bridale and the church inge bothe 
Shall bee upon one daye," 

We are informed that the German poet Burger has translated this 
poem witii much grace, and entitles it GtaJ Walter. Biirger has also 
translated ** King John and the Abbot of Canterbury " as Der Kaiser 
und der Abty and ** The Child of Elle " as Die ErU/iihrung.— Editor, 



This sonnet is given &om a small quarto MS. in the Editor's possession, 
written in the time of Queen Elizabeth. Another copy of it, con- 
taining some variations, is reprinted in the Muses Library, p. 295» 
from an ancient miscellany entitled Englands Helicon, 1600, 4to. 
The author was Nicholas Breton, a writer of some fame in the reign 
of Elizabeth, who also published an interlude entitled ** An old man's 
lesson and a yoimg man's love," 4to, and many other little pieces lu 
prose and verse, the titles of which may be seen in Winstanley, Ames* 
Typog,, and Osborne's Harl. Catalog., &o. He is mentioned with 
great respect by Meres, in his second part of Wit*8 Commonwealth, 
1598, f. 283, and is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful 
Lady, act ii., and again in Wit tdthotU Money, act iii. — See ^bailey's 
Ben Jonson, vol. iii. p. 103. 

The present edition is improved by a copy in England's Helicon. 
edit. 1614, 8vo. 

In the merrie moneth of Maye, 
In a mome by break of daye. 
With a troope of damselles playing 
Forthe ' I yode ' forsooth a maying ; 

When anon by a wood side, 5 

Where that Maye was in his pride, 
I espied all alone 
PhiUida and Corydon. 

Ver. 4, the wode. MS. 



1^8 PHILLIDA Ain> COBTDQU. 

Much adoe there was, QiA wot : 

Ho wold love, and she wold not. 10 

8be Bayde, ** Never man was trewe ;" 

He sayes, ** None was false to yon." 

He sayde, hee had loyde her longe ; 
She sayes, love should have no wronge. 
Corydon wold kisse her theu ; 15 

She sayes, *' Maydes most kisise no men, 

" Tyll they doe for good and aU.** 

When she made the shepperde call 

All the heavens to wytnos tmthe, 

Never loved a truer youthe. 20 

Then with manie a prettie othe, 
Yea and nay, and faithc and trothe, 
Buche as seelie shepperdos ubo 
When they will not love abuse, 

Love, that had bene long deluded, 25 

Was with kisses sweete concluded ; 
And Phillida with garlands ga} e 
Was made the lady of the Maye. 

*^* The foregoing little Pastoral of PhilUda and Corydon Is 3ne 
of the Bongs in " The Honourable Entertainment gieven to me Qoeenea 
Miij«Htio in Piogresse at Elvetham in Hampehire, by the B. H. the 
Mark' of Hertford, 1691/* 4to. [Printed by Wolfe. No name of author.] 
S(^> in that pamphlet, 

" The thirde daies Entertainment. 

'•(in Wednesday morning about 9 o'clock, as her Mnjestie opened 
a <>aH( luent of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musicians, 
who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with 
a ploaHant song of Corydon and Phillida, made in a parts of purpose, 
'i'ho Koii":, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the 
nolo therto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once 
Hung t<) command it agaiue, and highly to grace it with her oheerefull 
iiCce{)tanco and commendation. 

"The Plowman's Song. 
" In the merrie month of May," &c. 

Th<' splendour and magnificence of Elizabeth's reign is no where 
nior(> Htrongly painted than in these little diaiies of some of her 
summer excursions to the houses of hei nobility ; nor could a more 



LTTTLS MUSGBAVB AND LADT BABNABD. 149 

aooeptable present be given to the world than a republication of a 
select number of such details as this of the entertainment at Elvetham, 
that at Killingworth, &c., &c., which so strongly mark the spirit of the 
times, and present us with scenes so very remote from modem manners. 

0^ Since the above was written the public hath been gratified 
with a most complete work on the foi-egoin<c subject, entitled. The 
Progresses and Publio Processions of Queen Eluaheth^ &a ' By John 
Nichols, F.A.S., Edinb. and Perth, 1788, 2 vols. 4to. 



XL 

ttttle i&vascAht antr latrp Santartr. 

This ballad is ancient, uid has been popular; we find it quoted in 
many old plays. — See Beaum. and Fletcher's Knight of (he Burning 
Pestle, 4to, 1613, act v. The Varietie, a comedy, 12mo, 1649, act iv., 
&c. In Sir William Davenant's play, The Witts, act iii., a gallant 
thus boasts of himself: 

'' Limber and sound I besides I sing Musgrave, 
And for Chery-chace no lark comes near me." 

In the Pepys Collection, vol. iii. p. 314, is an imitation of this old 
song, in thirty-three stanzas, by a more modern pen, with mtiny altera- 
tions, but evidently for the worse. 

This is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, wiMi 
oorrections ; some of which are from a fragment in the Editor's folio 
MS. It is also printed in Dryden's Collection of Miscellaneous Poems 

As it fell out on a higlie holye daye, 

As many bee in the yeare, 
When young men and maides together do goe, 

Their masses and mattins to heare. 

Little Mnsgraye oame to the chnrch door, 5 

The priest was at the mass ; 
But he had more mind of the fine women, 

Then he had of our liadyes graoe. 

And some of them were clad in greene. 

And others were clad in pall ; 10 

And then came in my Lord Bamardes wife, 
The fSairest among them alL 



160 UTTLI MUBGRATI AHD 

Sbee cast ftn eye on little Masgrave 

As bright as the sammer sonne : 
O then bethought him little Musgraye^ 15 

'' This ladyes heart I have wonne." 

Qnoth she, '* I have loved thee, little Mnsgrave, 

Fulle long and manye a daye : " 
" So have I loved yon, ladye faire, 

Yet word I never dnrst saye." 20 

'* I have a bower at Bncklesford-Bnry,^ 

Full daintilye bedight ; 
If thoult wend thither, my little Mnsgrave, 

Thoust lig in mine armes all night." 

Quoth hce, " I thanke yoe, ladye faire, 25 

This kindness yee shew to mee ; 
And whether it be to my weale or woe, 

This night will I lig with thee." 

All this beheard a litle foot-page. 

By his ladyes coach as he ranne : 80 

Quoth he, ** Thoughe I am my ladyes page. 

Yet Ime my Lord Bamardes manne. 

" My Lord Bara&rd shall knowe of this, 

^though I lose a limbe." 
And ever whereas the bridges were broke, 85 

He layd him downe to swimme. 

** Asleep or awake, thou Lord Barnard, 

As thou art a man of life ; 
Lo I this same night at Bucklesford-Burj 

Little Musgrave's abed with thy wife.*' 40 

'* If it be trew, thou litle foote-page. 

This tale thou hast told to mee. 
Then all my lands in Buoklesford-Bury 

I freelye will give to thee. 

** But and it be a lye, thou litle foot-page, 15 

This tale thou hast told to mee. 
On the highest tree in Buoklesford-Bury 

All hanged shalt thou bee. 

> Buokleeeld-berry. fol. MS. 



LADT BARNABD. 151 

** Bise np, rise up, my meny men all. 

And saddle me my good steede ; 50 

This night must I to Bucklesford-Bary, 

Qod wott, I had never more neede.*' 

Then some they whistled, and some they sang. 

And some did londlye saye. 
Whenever Lord Bamardes home it blewe, 55 

** Awaye, Mosgrave, away." 

** Hethinkes I heare the throstle cocke, 

Methinkes I heare the jaye, 
Hethinkes I heare Lord Barnards home ; 

I would I were awaye." 60 

** Lye still, lye still, thou little Mosgrave, 

And haggle me from the cold ; 
For it is but some shephardes boye 

A whistling his sheepe to the fold. 

*' Is not thy hawke npon the pearohe 65 

Thy horse eating oome and haye ? 
And thou a gaye lady within thine armes, — 

And wouldst thou be away ?" 

By this Lord Barnard was come to the dore. 

And lighted upon a stone ; 70 

And he pulled out three silver keyes. 
And opened the dores eohe one. 

He lifted up the ooverlett, 

He lifted np the sheote ; 
^ How now, how now, thou little Musgrave, 75 

Dost find my gaye ladye sweete ? *' 

** I find her sweete," quoth little Musgrave, 

(< The more is my griefe and paine ; 
Ide gladlye give three hundred poundes 

That I were on yonder plaine." 80 

** Arise, arise, thou little Musgrave, 

And put thy oloathes nowe on ; 
It shall never be said in my countree, 

That I killed a naked man. 

y. H li whittling shMpe ort the mold, fol M8 



152 UTTLS MmOEAYK AMD LAITr BARNAED. 

" I haTe two iwordes in one scabborde, 85 

Full deare thej eoBt my parse ; 
And thon shalt haTe the beet of them, 

And I will haTe the wone." 

The first stroke that little MnsgraTe stmoke. 

He hnrt Lord Barnard sore ; 90 

The next stroke that Lord Barnard stmcke,, . 
Little MusgraTO neTer stmcke more. 

With that bespake the ladje faire, 

In bed whereas she laye, 
** Althonghe thon art dead, my little Mnsgrare, 95 

Tet for thee I will praye ; 

" And wishe well to thy soole will I, 

As long as I haTe life ; 
So will I not do for thee, Barnard, 

Thooghe I am thy wedded wife." 100 

He cut her pappes from off her brest. 

Great pitye it was to see 
The drops of this fair ladyes bloode 

Bnn trickling downe her knee. 

" Wo worth, wo worth ye, my merrye men aU, 105 
You neTer were borne for my goode ; 

Why did you not offer to stay my hande. 
When you sawe me wax so woode ? 

^ For I haTe slaine the fairest sir knighte 

That OTor rode on a steede ; 11 C 

So haTe I done the fairest lady 
That OTer ware womans weede. 

" A graTe, a graTe," Lord Barnard cryde, 

" To putt these loTers in ; 
But lay my ladye o* the upper hande, 115 

For shee comes o' the better kin." 

{^ That the more modern oopj is to be dated about the middle 
of the last oentary, will be readily conceived from the tenonr of the 
concluding stansa, yiz. — 



THE XW-BUGHT8 HASIOK. 153 

** This sad Mischief by Lust was wrought : 

Then let ns call for Grace 
That we may shim the wicked vice, 

And fly from Sin a-paoe." 120 



xn. 

^t iElo^tt2llts( i&amn. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 

This sonnet appears to be uicient : that, and its simplicity of senti- 
ment, have recommended it to a place here. 

Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion, 

And wear in the ^mp wi' mee ? 
The snn shines sweit, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweit as thee. 
O Marion's a bonnie lass, 5 

And the blyth blinks in her ee ; 
And fain wad I marrie Marion, 

Gin Marion wad marrie inee. 

Theire's gowd in zonr garters, Marion ; 

And slUer on zour white hanss-bane ;^ 10 

Foil fftine wad I kisse my Marion 

At eene qnhan I com hame. 
l^eire's braw lads in Eamslaw, Marion, 

Qnha gape and glowr wi' their ee 
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion ; 15 

Bot nane of them lues like mee. 



Ive idiie milk-ews, my Marion, 
A cow and a brawney quay ; 

Ise gie tham an to my Marion, 
Just on her bridal day. 



20 

i silver lo* 
in Scotia 
where a sore throat is called " a sair hauae,*' properly hake. 



* BaUia-hans, i. €. the neck-hone. Marion had prohahly a silver locket 
•n, tied close to her neck with a riband, a nsaal ornament in Scotland; 



154 Tm KinoHT ahd 

And sees get a grein sey apron, 
And waistoote o' London bronn , 

And wow bot ze will be vaporing 
Qohaneir ze gang to the tonn. 

Ime yong and stent, my Marion, 25 

None danoe lik mee on the greine ; 
And gin ze forsak me, Marion, 

Ise een gae draw np wi' Jeane. 
Sae put on zonr pearlins, Marion, 

Aiid kirtle oth' oramasie, 80 

And snne as my chin has nae haire on, 

I sail cum west and see zee. 



xnL 

Q^e Winigfyt antr ^i^tff^vcVi fiaug||ter. 

This ballad (giyen from an oldblaok-Ietter copy, with some oorreotions) 
was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually printed 
with her picture before it, as Heame informs us in his prefoce to Qui. 
Nevfbrig. Hist. Oxon. 1719, 8vo, vol. i. p. Ixx. It is quoted m Fletcher's 
comedy of The PUgriir^ act iv. so. 1. 

Thsbk was a shepherds daughter 

Came tripping on the waye, 
And there by chance a knighte shoe mett, 

Which caused her to staye. 

** Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide,'' 5 

These words pronounced heo ; 
*< O I shall dye this daye," he sayd, 

" If Ive not my wille of thee." 

*' The Lord forbid," the maide replyde, 
<* That you shold waze so wode ! " 10 

But for all that shoe could do or saye, 
< He wold not be withstood.' 

* Earl Richard and Earl Lithgow are the titles of the Soottish yersioa!! 
of this poem, which Professor Child considers superior to the Eogliah ia 
«ery respect. — Editor, 



shepherd's dauohtbb. 156 

• Sith you have had your wille of mee. 

And put me to open shame, 
Now, if your are a courteous knighte, 15 

Tell me what is your name ? " 

'* Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart. 

And some do call mee Jille ; 
But when I come to the kings fair oourte^ 

They calle me WilfuUe Wille." 20 

He sett his foot into the stirrup, 

And awaye then he did ride ; 
She tuckt her girdle about her middle, 

And ranne close by his side. 

But when she came to the brode water, 25 

She sett her brest and swamme ; 
And when she was got out againe, 

She tooke to her heels and ranne. 

He never was the courteous knighte. 

To saye, " Faire maide, will ye ride ? " 30 

* And she was ever too loving a maide 

To saye, " Sir Knighte, abide.*' ' 

When she came to the kings faire courte. 

She knocked at the ring : 
So readye was the king himself 85 

To let this faire maid in. 

** Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, 

Now Christ you save and see ; 
Ton have a knighte within your courte 

This daye hath robbed mee." 40 

<' What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart ? 

Of purple or of pall ? 
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring 

From off thy finger small f* 

** He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 15 

Of purple nor of pall ; 
But he hath gotten my maiden-head. 

Which grieves mee worst of all." 



156 TBI KmOHT AND SHBPHSBD's DAUGHTSB. 

** Now if he be a batchelor, 

His bodye He give to thee ; 50 

But if he be a married man, 

High hanged he shall bee.*' 

He called downe his merrye men all, 

By one, by two, by three ; 
Sir William used to bee the first, 55 

But nowe the last came heo. 

He brought her downe fuUe fortye ponnde, 

Tyed up withinne a glove : 
*' Faire maid. He give the same to thee ; 

Gk> seeke thee another love." 60 

•* O He have none of your gold," she sayde; 

" Nor He have none of your fee ; 
But your faire bodye I must have, 

The king hath granted mee." 

Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 6. 

Five hundred pound in golde. 
Saying, *' Faire maide, t«ke this to thee, 

Thy fault will never be tolde.'* 

*' Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt," 

These words then answered shoe, 70 

'* But your own bodye I must have, 
The king hath granted mee." 

" Would I had dranke the water cloare, 

When I did drink the wine. 
Rather than any shepherds brat 75 

Shold bee a ladye of mine ! 

" Would I had drank the puddle foule, 

When I did drink the ale, 
Bather that ever a shepherds brat 

Shold tell me such a tale I" 80 

Ver. 50. His bodye He give to thee. This was agreeable to the feudal 
customs: the lord had a right to give a wife to his vass^h.' — See Sha^E 
tpeare's All's well that ends well. 



XHB SHBPHSBD's ADDKES8 TO HIS MUSI. 157 

'* A shepherds brat even as I was. 

You mote have let mee bee ; 
I never had come to the kings faire ooortei 

To crave any love of thee." 

He sett her on a milk-white steede^ 85 

And himself upon a graye ; 
He hung a bugle about his necke, 

And soe they rode awaye. 

But when they came unto the place. 

Where marriage-rites were done, 90 

She proved herself a dukes daughter, 

Aiid he but a squires sonne. 

" Now marryo me, or not, Sir Knight, 

Your pleasure shall be free : 
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95 

lie make you lord of three." 

" Ah I cursed bee the gold ;" he sayd, 

" If thou hadst not been trewe, 
I shold have forsaken my sweet love, 

And have changed her for a newe." 100 

And now their hearts being linked fast, 

They joyned hand in hande : 
Thus he had both purse, and person too, 

And all at his commando. 



XIV. 
^t S^f^tff^ttVi «t{nvtii to |)u{ flUtat. 

This poem, originally printed from the small MS. volume mentioned 
above in No. x., has been improved by a more perfect copy in England^ § 
Eelicony where the author is discovered to be K. Breton. 

Good Muse, rocke me aslope 

With some sweete harmony ; 
This wearie eye is not to kepe 

Thy wary company. 



158 TRv shsphxrd's addrsss to hib Munk 

Sweet Lore, begon a while, 6 

Thon seest my Heayines ; 
Beantie is borne bnt to begayle 

Mj harto of happines. 

See how mj little flocke, 

That lovde to feede on bighe, 10 

Doe headlonge tnmble downe the rocke, 

And in the valloj dje. 

The bushes and the trees, 

That were so freshe and greene, 
Doe all their deintie colors leese, 15 

And not a leafe is seene. 

The blaoke birde and the thrashe, 

That made the woodes to ringe. 
With all the rest are now at hushe. 

And not a note they singe. 20 

Swete Philomele, the birde 

That hath the heavenly throte. 
Doth nowe, alas I not once afforde 

Eecordinge of a note. 

The flowers have had a frost, 25 

The herbs have loste their savonre, 

And Phillida the faire hath lost 
• For me her wonted ' favour. 

Thus all those careful sights 
^ So kill me in conceit, 30 

^ That now to hope upon delights, 

" ^ It is but meere deceite. 

And therefore, my sweete Muse, 
That knowest what helpe is best, 

Doe nowe thy heavenlie conninge use 35 

To sett my harte at rest ; 

And in a dreame bewraie 

What fate t^hal be my frende ; 
Whether my life shall still decaye, 

Or when my sorrowes ende. 40 



lABD THOMAS AND FAIB ELLINOB. 159 

XV. 
lotti ^omsa antr jTatr iEIltnot 

is given (with oorrections) from an ancient copy in black-letter in the 
Pepys Collection, entitled, '* A tragical ballad on the unfortunate love 
of Lord Thonuis and fiair Ellinor, together with the downfall of tlie 
browne girl." In th^ same collection may be seen an attempt to 
modernize this old song, and reduce it to a different measure : a prooi 
of its popularity. 

LoBD Thomas he was a bold forrester, 

And a chaser of the kings deere ; 
Faire Ellinor was a fine woman, 

And Lord Thomas he loved her deare. 

" Come riddle mj riddle, dear mother," he sayd, 5 

<* And riddle us both as one ; 
Whether I shall marrye with faire Ellinor, 

And let the browne girl alone ? " 

'' The browne girl she has got houses and lands, 
Faire Ellinor she has got none ; 10 

And therefore I charge thee on my blessing, 
To bring me the browne girl home." 

And as it befelle on a high holidaye. 

As many there are beside, 
Lord Thomas he went to faire Ellinor, 15 

That should have been his bride. 

And when he came to faire Ellinors bower. 

He knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so readye as faire Ellinor, 

To lett Lord Thomas withinn ? 20 

** What newes, what newes. Lord Thomas,'' she sayd 

" What newes dost thou bring to mee ? " 
*< I am come to bid thee to my wedding. 

And that is bad newes for thee." 

^ God forbid, Lord Thomas," she sayd, 25 

'' That such a thing should be done ; 
I thought to have been the bride my selfe 

And thou to have been the bridegrome*" 



160 LORD THOMAS AND FAIB XLLIVOB. 

'* Come riddle my riddle, dear mother," she sayd, 

" And riddle it all in one ; 80 

Whether I shall goe to Lord Thomas his wedding, 
Or whether shall tarry at home f* 

" There are manye that are your fnendes, daughtery 

And manye a one yonr foe ; 
Therefore I charge yon on my blessing, 85 

To Lord Thomas his wedding don't ^oe." 

" There are manye that are my friendes, mother ; 

But were every one my foe, 
Betide me life, betide me death, 

To Lord Thomas his wedding lid goe." 40 

She cloathed herself in gallant attire, 

And her merrye men all in greene ; 
And as they rid through every towne, 

They took her to be some queene. 

But when she came to Lord Thomas his gate, 45 

She knocked there at the ring ; 
And who was so roadye as Lord Thomas, 

To lett faire Ellinor in. 

• Is this your bride ?" fair Ellinor sayd ; 

" Methinks she looks wonderous browne; 50 

Thou mightest have had as faire a woman 
As ever trod on the grounde." 

" Despise her not, fair Ellin," he sayd, 

** Despise her not unto mee ; 
For better I love thy little finger, 65 

Than all her whole bod^e." 

This browne bride had a little penknife. 

That was both long and sharpe, 
And betwixt the short ribs and the long. 

She prick'd faire EUinor's harte. 60 

Ver. 29, It should probably be, Reade me, read, &c, i. e Advise mt 
advise. 



OUPID AND OAMPASPl. 161 

•*0 Christ ihee save," Lord Thomas, hee sayd, 

'* Methinks thou lookst wonderons wan ; 
Thon nsedst to look with as fresh a colour, 

As ever the son shone on." 

" art thou blind, Lord Thomas ? " she sayd^ 65 

" Or canst thou not very well see ? 
O dost thou not see my owne hearts bloode 

Bun trickling down my Imee ? " 

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side; 

As he walked about the halle, 70 

He cut off his brides head from her shoulders, 

And threw it against the walle. 

He set the hilte against the grounde, 

And tiie point against his harte ; 
There never three lovers together did meete, 75 

That sooner againe did parte. 

*«* The reader will find a Soottish song on a similiar snbjeot to 
this towards the end of this yolome, entitled, Lord Tlwrntu and Lady 
Annet, 



XVI. 
Cttpdr antt CattqpajEtpe. 

This elegant little sonnet is fonnd in the third act of an old play, 
entited, Alexander and Gampaspe, written by John Lilye, a celebrated 
writer in the time of Qaeen ElLsabeth. That play was first printed 
in 1591 ; but this copy is given from a later edition. 

Cupid and my Campaspe playd 
At cardes for kisses ; Cupid payd : 
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. 
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows ; 
Loses them too ; then down he throws 
The coral of his lippe, the rose 
Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how,) 
With these, the crystal of his browe« 
VOL. n. M 



162 THl LADT TUBNXD BSBYXNO-ILUI* 

And then the dimple of bis ehixme ; 

All these did my Oampaspe wimie. 

At last he set her both his eyes, 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
O Lore I has (she done this to theef 
What shall, alasl beoome of mee f 



H 



xvn. 

is gifen from a written copy, containing some improrements (perhaps 
m<^em ones) upon the popular ballad, entitled, ** The fiBtmooa flower 
of Sendng-men ; or the Ijady turned Serving-man." 

You beauteons ladyes, great and small, 
I write mito you one and all, 
Whereby that yon may understand 
What I have suffered in the land. 

I was by birth a ladye f aire, 6 

An ancient barons only heire, 
^ And when my good old father dyed, 

Then I became a young knightes bride. 

And there my love built me a bower, 

Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower ; 10 

A braver bower you ne'er did see 

Then my true-love did build for mee. 

And there I livde a ladye gay, 

Till fortune wrought our loves decay ; 

For there came foes so fierce a band, 15 

That soon they over-run the land. 

They came upon us in the night, 
And brent my bower, and slew my knight ; 
And trembling hid in mans array, 
* I scant with iSe escap'd away. 90 



VBK LADT TT7BKBD 6fiBVIKG-MAK. 163 

In the midst of this eztremitie, 
My servants all did from me flee : 
Thus was I leffc myself alone, 
With heart more cold than any stone. 

Tet though my heart was full of care, 25 

Heayen would not suffer me to dispaire. 
Wherefore in haste I changed my name 
From fidre Elise, to sweet WiUiame ; 

And therewithall I cut my haire, 

BesolVd my mans attire to weare ; 80 

And in my beayer, hose and band^ 

I travell'd far through many a land. 

At length all wearied with my toil, 

I sate me downe to rest awhile ; 

My heart it was so fOl'd with woe 85 

That downe my cheeke the teares did flow. 

It chanc'd the king of that same place 

With all his lords a hunting was. 

And seeing me weepe, upon the same, 

Askt who I was and whence I came. 4} 

Then to his Grace I did replye, 
*' I am a poore and friendlesse boye, 
Though nobly borne, nowe forc'd to bee 
A serving-man of lowe degree." 

" Stand up, faire youth," the king reply 'd, 45 

** For thee a service I'll provyde. 
But tell me first what thou canst do ; 
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto. 

** Wilt thou be usher of my hall, 

Td wait upon my nobles all ? 50 

Or wilt be taster of my wine, 

To 'tend on me when I shall dine ? 

" Or wilt thou be my chamberlaine, 

About my person to remaine ? 

Or wilt thou be one of my guard, 55 

And I will give thee great reward? 

X 2 



164 THE LADT TTTBNED BlBYnrO-MAir* 

** Chuse, gentle youth/' said he " thy place." 

Then I reply'd, " If it please Your Giucd 

To shew such farour unto mee. 

Your chamberlaine I fedne would bee." 60 

The king then smiling gare consent^ 
And straitwaye to his court I went ; 
Where I behavde so faithfullie 
That hee great favour showd to mee. 

Now marke what fortune did provide : 65 

The king he would a hunting ride 
With all his lords and noble traine. 
Sweet William must at home remaine. 

Thus being left alone behind. 

My former state came in my mind ; 70 

I wept to see my mans array ; 

No longer now a ladye gay. 

And meeting with a ladyes vest, 

Within the same myself I drest ; 

With silken robes and jewels rare, 75 

I deckt me, as a ladye faire ; 

And taking up a lute straitwaye, 

Upon the same I strove to play ; 

And sweetly to the same did sing. 

As made both hall and chamber ring. 80 

" My father was as brave a lord, 
As ever Europe might afford ; 
My mother was a lady bright ; 
My husband was a vfdiant knight ; 

*' And I myself a ladye gay, 85 

Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array ; 
The happiest lady in the land 
Had not more pleasure at command, 

" I had my musicke every day 

Harmonious lessons for to play ; 90 

I had my virgins faire and free 

Continually to wait on mee. 



THH LADY TUBNED SBBYINa-lCAN. 165 

^ But now, alas ! my husband's dead, 

And all m j friends are from me fled ; 

My former days are past and gone, 95 

And I am now a serying->man." 

And fetching many a tender sigh, 

As thinking no one then was nigh, 

In pensile mood I laid me lowe, 

My heart was full, the tears did flowe. 100 

The king, who had a hnntinge gone, 
Grewe weary of his sport anone, 
And leaving all his gallant traine, 
Tnm'd on the sudden home againe ; 

And when he reach'd his statelye tower, 105 

Hearing one sing within his bower, 
He stopt to listen and to see 
Who sung there so melodiouslie. 

Thus heard he everye word I sed. 

And saw the pearlye teares I shed, 110 

And found to his amazement there 

Sweet William was a ladye faire. 

Then stopping in, " Faire ladye, rise 

And dry," said he, " those lovelye eyes, 

For I have heard thy mournful tale, 115 

The which shall tume to thy availe*'' 

A crimson dye my face orespred, 

I blusht for shame and hung my head 

To find my sex and story ^owne. 

When as I thought I was alone. ] 20 

But to be briefe, his Boyal Grace 
Grewe so enamour'd of my face, 
The richest gifts he proffered mee. 
His mistress if that I would bee. 

^ Ah ! no, my liege," I firmlye sayd, 126 

^ I'll rather in my grave be layd ; 
And though Tour Grace hath won my heart, 
I ne'er wHl act soe base a part." 



166 OIL HOBBIOI. 

" Faiie ladye, pardon me," aayd hee^ 

<« Thy yirtue shall rewarded bee, 180 

And since it is soe fairly tryde 

Thou shalt become my royal bride/' 

Then strait to end his amorous strife, 

He tooke sweet William to his wife. 

The like before was never scene : 185 

A serying-man became a qneene. 

« 



xvin. 

6U fiiovxict. 

A floomna ballad. 

The following piece hath nm through two editions in Sootland : the 
second was i)rinted at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both 
is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem 
was owing to ^a lady, who favoured the printers with a copy as it was 
carefnlly collected from the months of old women and nurses;" and 
'^ any reieuler that can render it more correct or complete/' is dedred to 
oblige tiie public with such improvements. In consequence of this 
advertisement, sixteen additional verses have been produced and 
handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper 
places : (these are from ver. 109 to ver. 121, and from ver. 124 to ver. 
129, but are, perhaps, after all, only an ingenious interpolation). 

As this poem lays claim to a pretty high antiquity, we have assigned 
it a place among our early pieoes : though, after all, there is reason to 
believe it has received very considerable modem improvements : for in 
the Editor's ancient MS. collection is a very old imperfect copy of the 
same ballad : wherein, though the leading features of the story are 
the same, yet the colouring here is so much improved and heightened^ 
and so many additional strokes are thrown in, that it is evident the 
whole has undergone a revisal. 

N.B.— The Editor's MS. instead of Lord Barnard, has John Stewari , 
and instead of Oil Morrice, Child Mauriee, which last is probably thm 
original title.~See above, p. 141. 

Gil Mobbiob was an erl^ son. 

His name it waxed wide : 
It was nae for his great rich^ 

Nor zet his mickle pride ; 
Bot it was for a lady gay ( 

That liyd on Oarron side. 



OIL UOBBIGl. 167 

** Quhair sail I get a bonny boy> 

That will win hose and shoen ; 
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha^ 

And bid his lady cnm ? 10 

And ze mann rin my enand, Willie, 

And ze may rin wi' pride ; 
Qnhen other boys gae on their foot, 

On horse-back ze sail ride." 

'< O no 1 O no ! my master dear I 15 

I dare nae for my life; 
m no gae to the banld barbns, 

For to triest fnrth his wife.** 
**My bird WilHe,my boy Willie, 

My dear Willie," he sayd : 20 

" How can ze strive against the stream ? 

For I shall be obeyd." 

" Bot, my master dear ! " he cry'd, 

^' Id. grene wod ze're zonr lain ; 
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ze rede, 25 

For fear ze shonld be tain." 
" Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha'. 

Bid hir oum here wi speid : 
If ze refuse my heigh command, 

ni gar zonr body bleid. 30 

^ G&e bid hir take this gay mant^ 

'Tis a' gowd bot the hem ; 
Bid hir cnm to the gnde grene wode, 

And bring nane bot hir lain : 
And there it is, a silken sarke, 85 

Hir ain hand sewd the sleive ; 
And bid hir cnm to Gill Horice, 

Speir nae banld barons leaye." 

'' Tes, I will gae zonr blacke errand* 
Thongh it be to zonr cost ; 40 

Sen ze by me well nae be wam'd, 
In it ze sail find frost 

Ver 11, something Mems wanting hert. T. 32 and 68, perhaptg 

lout tha ' 



168 GIL MOBBICK. 

The baron be is a man of might, 

He neir conld bide to taunt ; 
Ab se will see before if s nich^ 45 

How sma' se hae to yaimt. 

** And sen I maon zonr errand rin 

Sae sair against my will, ^ 
l*8e make a vow and keip it trow, 

ItsaUbedoneforilL*' 50 

And qohen he came to broken brigae, 

He bent his bow and swam ; 
And quhen he came to grass growing, 

Bet down his feet and ran. 

And qnhen he came to Bamards ha', 55 

Would neither chap nor ca' ; 
Bot set his bent bow to his breist. 

And lichtly lap the wa'. 
He wauld nae teU the man his errand, 

Thottgh he stude at the gait ; 60 

Bot straiht into the ha' he cam, 

Qohair they were set at meit. 

^ Hail I hail I my gentle sire and dame 1 

My message winna waite ; 
Dame, ze mami to the gude grene wod, 65 

Before that it be late. 

** Ze're bidden tak this gay mantel, 

Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
Zou mann gae to the gude grene wode, 

EVn by your sel alane. 70 

** And there it is, a silken sarke, 

Your ain hand sewd the sleive : 
Ze maun gae speik to Gill Morice ; 

Speir nae bauld barons leave." 
The lady stamped wi* hir foot, 75 

And winked wi' her ee ; 
Bot a' that she coud say or do. 

Forbidden he wad nae bee. 

y. 58. Could this be the wall of the castle ? 



GIL UOBBIOS. 169 

*Its surely to my boVivwomki j 

It neir could be to me." 80 

^ I brocht it to Lord Bamards lady ; 

I trow that ze be she." 
Then up and spack the wylie nurse, 

rihe^bairn upon hir knee) : 
' If it l>e cum frae Gill Horace, 85 

It's deir welcum to mee." 

*' Ze leid, ze leid, ze filthy nurse, 

Sae loud I heird ze lee ; 
I brocht it to Lord Bamards lady ; 

I trow ze be nae shoe." 90 

Then up and spack the bauld barbn, 

An angry man was hee ; 
He's tain the table wi' his foot, 

Qae has he wi' his knee, 
Till siller cup and ' mazer ^ 'dish 95 

In flinders he gard flee. 

** Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 

That hings upon the pin ; 
And rU gae to the gude grene wode, 

And speik wi' zour lemmito. 100 

" bide at hame, now, Lord Baomard, 

I warde ze bide at hame ; 
Neir wyte a man for violence, 

That neir wate ze wi' nane." 

Oil Morice sate in gude grene wode, 105 

He whistled and he sang : 
'* what mean a' the folk coming ? 

My mother tarries lang." 
His hair was like the threeds of gold, 

Drawne frae Minerva's loome ; 110 

His lipps like roses drapping dew ; 

His breath was a' perfume. 

y. 88, perhaps, loud say I heire. 
^ i,0,9L drinkiiig cup of maple ; other edit, read ezar. 



170 on. MOSRioi. 

HiB browe was like the monntain snae 

Gilt by the morning beam ; 
His cheeks like living roses glow ; 115 

His een like azure streauL 
The boj was clad in robes of giene, 

Sweete as the in&nt spring ; 
And like the mavis on tlie bush. 

He gart the vallies ring. 120 

The baron came to the grene wode, 

Wi' mickle dnle and care, 
And there he first spied GiU Morioe 

Eameing his zellow hair 
That sweedy wavd around his face, 125 

That face beyond compare ; 
He sang sae sweet, it might ^pel 

A' rage but fell despair. 

** Nae wonder, nae wonder, Oill Morioe, 

My lady loed thee weel ; 180 

The fairest part of my bodie 

Is blacker than thy heeL 
Zet neir the less now, Gill Morioe, 

For a' thy great beauti^, 
Ze's rew the day ze eir was bom ; 135 

That head sdl gae wi' me." 

Now he has drawn his trusty brand, 

And slaited on the strae ; 
And thro' Gill Morice' &ir body 

He's gar cauld iron gae. 140 

And he has tain Gill Morice' head 

And set it on a speir : 
The meanest man in a' his train 

Has gotten that head to bear. 

And he has tain Gill Morice up, 145 

Laid him across his steid, 
And brocht him to his painted bowr, 

And laid him on a bed. 

V. 128 So Hilton,^ 

** Vemal dtlight and Joy : able to drive 
AU sadness but despair/' — Faradiae Lott, iv. 155. 



GIL MOBBIOl. 171 

The lady sat on castil W, 

Beheld baith dale and donn ; 150 

And there she saw Gill Morioe' head 

Cum trailing to the tomu 

" Far better I loe that bloidy head. 

Both and that zellow hair. 
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, 155 

As they lig here and thair." 
And she has tain her Gill Morioe, 

And kissd baith month and ehin : 
'* I was once as fow of Gill Morioe, 

As the hip is o' the stean. 160 

** I got ze in my father's honse, 

Wi' mickle sin and shame ; 
I brocht thee up in gude grene wode, 

Under the heavy rain. 
Oft have I by thy cradle sitten 165 

And fondly seen thee sleip ; 
But now I gae about thy grave, 

The saut tears for to weip." 

And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, 

And syne his bluidy chin : 170 

" O better I loe my Gill Morioe 

Than a' my kith and kin 1 ** 
^ Away, away, ze ill womki. 

And an il deith mait ze dee : 
Gin I had kend he'd bin zour son, 175 

He'd neir bin slain for : 



** Obndd me not, my Lord Barnard I 

Obndd me not for shame I 
Wi' that saim speir, pierce my heart 1 

And put me out o' pain. 180 

Since nothing hot Gill Morice' head 

Thy jelous rage could quell. 
Let that saim himd now tak hir life 

That neir to thee did ill. 



172 OIL HOBBIOE. 

*< To me nae after days nor nichts 185 

Will eir be saft or kind ; 
m fill the air with heuvy sighs, 

And greet till I am bHnd." 
" Enoudi of blood by me's bin spilt, 

Seek not zour death frae me ; 190 

I rather lourd it had been my sel 

Than eather him or thee. 

" With waefo wae I hear zonr plaint ; 

Sair, sair I rew the deid, 
That eir this cursed hand of mine 195 

Had gard his body bleid. 
Dry np zonr tears, my winsome dame, 

Ze neir can heal the wound ; 
Ze see his head upon the speir, 

TTifi heart's blude on the ground. 200 

^ I curse the hand that did the deid, 

The heart that thocht the ill ; 
The feet that bore me.wi' sik speid. 

The comely zouth to kill, 
ril ay lament for Gill Morice, 205 

As gin he were mine ain ; 
m neir forget the dreiry day 

On which the zouth was alain." 

♦^* This little pathetic tale suggested the plot of the tragedy of 
Dmtglas, 
Since it was first printed, the Editor has been assured that the fore- 

going ballad is still current in many parts of Scotland, where the 
ero is universally known by the name of ChiM Maurice, pronounced 
by the common people Cheild or Cheeld, which occasioned the mistake. 
It may be proper to mention, that other copies read ver. 110, thus : 

^ Shot frae the golden sun." 

And ver, 116, as follows : 

<* His een like azure sheene." 



XND OF THB SEVENTH BOOK* 



( 178 ) 



BOOK vin. 



contains a short summary of the exploits of this famous champion, 
as recorded in the old story-books, and is commonly entitled, "A 
pleasant song of the valiant deeds of chivalry atchieved by that noble 
knight Sir Guy of Warwick, vfho, for the love of fair Phelis, became 
a hermit, and died in a cave of craggy rocke, a mile distant from 
Warvnck." 

The history of Sir Guy, though now very properly resigned to 
children, was once admired by all readers of wit and taste : for tAste 
and wit had once their chihlhood. Although of English growth, it 
was early a favourite with other nations : it appeared in frencb in 
1525, and is alluded to in the oM Spanish romance of Tirante d Blanco, 
which, it is believed, was written not long after the year 1480. — See 
advertisement to the French translation, 2 vols. ]2mo. 

The original whence all these stories are extracted, is a very ancient 
romance in old English verse, which is quoted by Chaucer as a cele- 
brated piece even in his time, (viz., 

'^ Men speken of romances of price, 
Of Home childe and Ippotis, 
Of Bevis, and Sir Guy," &c. R. of Thop.) 

and was usually sung to the harp at Christmas dinners and bridals, 
as we learn from Puttenham's Art of Poetry, 4to, 1589. 

This ancient romance is not wholly lost. An imperfect copy in 
black-letter, "Imprynted at London— for Wylliara Copland," in 34 
sheets, 4to, without date, is still preserved among Mr. Garrick's 
collection of old plays. As a specimen of the pK)etry of this antique 
rhymer, take his description of the dragon mentionea in yerse 105 of 
the following ballad : 

''A messenger came to the king. 
Syr king, he sayd, lysten me now, 
For bad tydinges I bring you. 
In Northmnberlande there is no man, 
Bat that they be slayne everychone : 
For there dare no man rouie. 



174 THK UBOEND OF BIB GUT. 

Bj twenty mjle rounde aboute. 

For doubt of a fowle dragon, 

That sleath men and beastes downt. 

He is blacke as any cole, 

Ragged as a rough fole ; 

His bodye from the navill npwarde 

No man may it pierce it is so harde; 

His neck is great as any summere ; 

He renneth as swift as any distrere ; 

Pawes he hath as a lyon : 

All that he toucheth he sleath dead downeu 

Great winges he hath to flight, 

That is no man that bare him might. 

There may no man fight him agayne, 

But that he sleath him certayne : 

For a fowler beast then is he, 

Ywis of none never heard ye." 

Sir William Dngdale is of opinion that the 'story of Guy is . not 
wholly apocryphal, though he acknowledges the monks have sounded 
out his praises too hyperbolioally. In particular, he gives the duel 
fought with the Danish Champion as a real historical truth, and fixes 
the date of it in the year 926, »tat. Guy 67. — See his Warwickshire. 

The following is written upon the same plan as ballad ▼. book vii., 
but which is the original, and which the copy, cannot be decided. 
This song is ancient, as may be inferred from the idiom pre^eryed 
in the margin, ver. 94, 102 : and was once popular, as app ars from 
Fletcher's Knight of the Burning PesUe, act ii., sc. ult 

It is here published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old 
folio volume collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black- 
letter in the Pepys Collection. 

Was ever knight for ladyes sake 

Soe tost in loye, as I, Sir Guy, 
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright 

As ever man beheld with eje ? 

Sbe gave me leave myself to try, 5 

The valiant knight with sheeld and speare, 

Ere that her love shee wold grant me ; 
Which made mee venture &r and neare. 

Then proved I a baron bold, 

In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight 10 
That in those dayes in England was. 

With sword and speare in feild to fight 

Ver. 9, The proud sir Guy. Pja 



THE LEGEND OF SIB 6X7T. 175 

An English man I was by birtbe : 
In faith of Christ a christyan true : 

The wicked lawes of infideUs 15 

I sought by prowesse to subdue. 

' Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde 
After our Saviour Christ his birth, 

When King Athelstone wore the crowne, 
I lived heere upon the earth. 20 

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle, 

And, as I sayd, of very truth 
A ladyes love did me constraine 

To seeke strange ventures in my youth ; 

To winmefame by feates ofarmes 25 

In strange and sundry heathen lands ; 

Where I atchieved for her sake 
Bight dangerous conquests with my hands. 

For first I sayled to Normandye, 

And there I stoutlye wan in fight 30 

The emperours daughter of Almaine, 

From manye a vallyant worthye knight. 

Then passed I the seas to Greece, 
To helpe the emperour in his right, 

Against tibe mightye souldans hoaste 36 

Of puissant Persians for to fight : 

Where I did slay of Sarazens, 

And heathen pagans, manye a man ; 

And slew the souldans cozen deere. 

Who had to name dougbtye Coldrki. 40 

Eskeldered, a famous knight, 

To death likewise I did pursue ; 
And Ehnayne, King of Tyre, alsoe, 

Most terrible in fight to viewe. 

I went into the souldans hoast, i5 

Being thither on embassage senl. 
And brought his head awaye with mee ; 

I having slaine y^^rn in Ins tent. 

y. 17, Two hundred. M& and PXS. 



176 THl LSOEND OF SIB GUT. 

There was a dragon in that land 

Most fieroelye mett me by the waye, 5C 

As hee a lyon did pursue, 

Which I myself did alsoe slay. 

Then soon I past the seas from Greece^ 
And came to Payye land aright ; 

Where I the Duke of Payye killed, 65 

His hainous treason to requite. 

To England then I came with speede, 
To wedd faire Fhelis, lady bright ; 

For love of whome I travelled fstrr 

To try my manhood and my might. 6C 

But when I had espoused her, 

I stayd with her but fortye dayes, 

Ere that I left this ladye faire. 
And went from her beyond the seas* 

All oladd in gray, in pilgrim sort, 65 

My voyage from her I did take 
Unto the blessed Holy Land, 

For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake. 

Where I Erie Jonas did redeeme. 

And all his sonnes, which were fifteene, 70 

Who with the cruell Sarazens 
In prison for long time had beene. 

I slew the giant Amarant 

In battel fiercelye hand to hand. 

And doughty Barknard killed I, 75 

A treacherous knight of Pavye land. 

Then I to England came againe, 
And here with Colbronde fell I fought ; 

An ugly gyant, which the Danes 

Had for their champion hither brought 80 

I oyercame him in the f eild, 

And slewe him soone right valliantlye ; 

Wherebye this land I did redeeme 
From Danish tribute utterlye. 



THI LKOBND OF SIB GUT. 177 

And afterwards I offered app 86 

The use of weapons solenmlje 
At Winchester, whereas I fonght, 

In sight of man ye &rr and nye. 

* But first/ near Winsor, I did slaye 

A bore of passing might and strength ; 90 

Whose like in England never was 

For hugenesse both in bredth and length. 

Some of his bones in Warwicka yett 
Within the castle there doe lye ; 

One of his sheeld-bones to this day 95 

Hangs in the citye of Coyentrye. 

On Donsmore heath I alsoe slewe 
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, 

Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath ; 

Which manye people had opprest. 100 

Some of her bones in Warwicke yett 

Still for a monument doe lye, 
And there exposed to lookers yiewe, 

As wonderous strange, they may espye. 

A dragon in Northumberland 105 

I alsoe did in fight destroye. 
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse, 

And all the countrye sore annoye. 

At length to Warwicke I did come. 

Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne ; 110 

And there I liviHl a hermitts life 
A mile and more out of the towne. 

Where with my hands I hewed a house 

Out of a craggy rocke of stone. 
And lived like a palmer poore 115 

Within that cave myself alone : 

And day lye came to begg my bread 

Of Phelis att my castle gate ; 
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe, 

Who dailye mourned for her mate. 120 

V. 94, 192, dcth lye. MS. 
VOL. II. N 



178 6T7T AND AMABAKT. 

Till att the last I fell sore sicke, 
Tea, sicke soe sore that I must dye ; 

I sent to her a ring of golde 
By which shee ]biewe me presentlye. 

Then shee repairing to the cave, 120 

Before that I gave np the ghost, 
Herself closd np my dying eyes ; 

My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most. 

Thus dreadful death did me arrest, 

To bring my corpes unto the grave, 130 

And like a palmer dyed I, 

Wherby I sought my soule to save. 

My body that endured this toyle, 
Though now it be consumed to mold, 

My statue, faire engraven in stone, 135 

In Warwicke still you may behold. 



n. 

6ns A^^ Smarant. 

The Editor found this poem in his anf^ient folio manuBcript among 
the old ballads ; he was desirous, therefore, that it should still accom- 
pany them ; aud as it is not altogether deyoid of merit, its insertion 
here will be pardoned. 

Although this piece seems not imperfect, there is reason to 1)elieve 
thiit it is only a part of a much lurger poem, which contained the whole 
nistory of Sir Guy : for, upon comparing it with the conmion story- 
Iwok, 12mo, we find the latter to be nothing more than this poem 
reduced to prose : which is only effected by now and then altering the 
rh\me, and throwing out some few of the poetical ornaments. The 
disguise is so slight, that it is an easy matter to pick complete stanzas 
in any page of that book. 

The author of this poem has shown some invention. Though he 
took the subject from the old romance quoted before, he has adorned 
it afresh, and made the story entirely his own. 

Gut jonmeyes towards that sanctifyed ground 
Whereas the Jewes fayre citye sometime stood, 

Wherin our Saviours sacred head was crownd, 
And where for sinfull man he shed his blood« 



GUT AND AMABAKT. 179 

To see tlie sepnlcher was Ms intent, 5 

The tombe that Joseph unto Jesus lent 
With tedious miles he tyred his wearye feet, 

And passed desart places full of danger ; 
At last with a most woefull wight ^ did meet, 

A man that unto sorrow was noe stranger, 10 

For he had fifteen sonnes made captives all 
To slavish bondage, in extremest thrall. 

A gyant called Amarant detaind them, 

Whom noe man durst encounter for his strength, 

Who, in a castle which he held, had chaind them. 15 

Guy questions where, and understands at length 

The place not farr. — " Lend me thy sword," quoth hoe ; 

** He lend my manhood all thy sonnes to free." 

With that he goes and lays upon the dore 

Like one that sayes, I must and will come in. 20 

The gyant never was soe rowz'd before. 

For noe such knocking at his gate had bin ; 
Soe takes his keyes and clubb, and cometh out, 
Staring with ireful countenance about. 
'' Sirra," quoth hee, " what busines hast thou heere ? 25 

Art come to feast the crowes about my walls ? 
Didst never heare noe ransome can him cleere 

That in the compasse of my furye falls ? 
For making me to take a porters paines. 
With this same clubb I will dash out thy braines." 30 
" Gyant," quoth Guy, " y*are quarrelsome, I see ; 

Choller and you seem very neere of kin ; 
Most dangerous at the clubb belike you bee ; 

I have bin better armd, though nowe goe thin. 
But shew thy utmost hate, enlarge thy spight, 35 

Keene is my weapon, and shall doe me right." 
Soe draws his sword, salutes him with the same 

About the head, the shoulders, and the side. 
Whilst his erected clubb doth deatli proclaime, 

Standinge with huge Colossus' spacious stride, 40 

Putting such vigour to his knotty beame 
That like a furnace he did smoke extreamo. 

^ Frie Jonas, mentioned in the foregoing ballad. 

N 2 



180 OUT AUD AMABANl 

But on the ground he spent his strokes in vainOy 
For Guy was nimble to avoyde them still, 

And ever ere he heay'd his clubb againe, 45 

Did brush his plated coat against his will : 

Alt such advantage Guy wold never fayle 

To bang him soundlye in his coate of mayle. 

Att last through thirst the gyant feeble grewe, 

And sayd to Guy, '' As ihou'rt of humane race, 60 

SI ow itt in this, give natures wants their dewe ; 
Let me but ^oe and drinke in yonder place ; 

Thou canst not yeeld to * me ' a smaller thing 

Than to graunt life thats given by the spring." 

" I graunt thee leave," quoth Guye, " goe drink thy last, 55 
Go pledge the dragon and the salvage bore,^ 

Succeed the tragedyes that they have past ; 
But never thinke to taste cold water more ; 

Drinke deepe to Death and unto him carouse ; 

Bid him receive thee in his earthen house." 60 

Soe to the spring he goes, and slakes his thirst, 

Takeing the water in extremely like 
Some wracked shipp that on a rocke is burst. 

Whose forced hulke against the stones does stryke ; 
Scooping it in soe fast with both his hands 65 

That Guy, admiring, to behold it stands. 

" Come on," quoth Guy, " let us to worke againe ; 

Thou stayest about thy liquor overlong ; 
The fish which in the river doe remaine 

Will want thereby ; thy drinking doth them wrong ; 70 
But I will see their satisfaction made ; 
With gyants blood they must and shall be payd." 

" Villaine," quoth Amarant, " He crush thee streight ; 

Thy life shall pay thy daring toungs offence I 
This clubb, which is about some hundred weight, 75 

Is deathes commission to dispatch thee hence I 
Dresse thee for ravens dyett, I must needes, 
And breake thy bones as they were made of reedes ! " 

« Which Guy had slain before. Ver. 64, bulke. MS. aiid P.oa 



GUY AND AMAKANT 181 

Incensed much by these bold pagan bostes, 

Which worthye Guy cold ill endure to heare, 80 

He hewes upon those bigg supporting postes 

Which like two pillars did his body beare. 
Amarant for those wounds in choller growes, 
And desperatelye att Guy his dubb he throwes, 

Which did directly on his body light 85 

Soe violent and weighty there-withall. 
That downe to ground on sudden came the knight ; 

And ere he cold recover from the foil, 
The gyant gott his clnbb againe in fist, 
And aimd a stroke that wonderfullye mist. 90 

" Traytor," quoth Guy, " thy falshood He repay, 

This coward act to intercept my bloode." 
Sayes Amarant, " He murther any way ; 

With enemyes, all vantages are good ; 
O could I poyson in thy nostrills blowe, 96 

Besure of it I wold dispatch thee soe I " 

" Its well," said Guy, " thy honest thoughts appeare 
Within that beastlye bulke where den^ dwell, 

Which are thy tenants while thou livest heare, 

But will be landlords when thou comest in hell. 100 

Vile miscreant, prepare thee for their den, 

Inhumane monster, hatefull unto men I 

'' But breathe thy selfe a time while I goe drinke. 
For flameing Phoebus with his fyerye eye 

Torments me soe with burning heat, I thinke 105 

My thirst wolde serve to drinke an ocean dryo. 

Forbear a litle, as I delt with thee." 

Quoth Amarant, *' Thou hast noe foole of mee I 

" Noe, sillye wretch, my father taught more witt. 

How I shold use such enemyes as thou. 110 

By all my gods I doe rejoice at itt. 

To understand that thirst constraines thee now ; 

For all the treasure that the world containes. 

One drop of water shall not coole thy vaines. 



182 GUY AND AiiASLAtlT. 

" Eoleeye my foo I why, 'twere a madmans part I 115 

Befresh an adversarye, to my wrong I 
If thou imagine this, a child thou art. 

Noe, fellow, I have known the world too long 
To be soe simple now I know thy want ; 
A minutes space of breathing I'll not grant" 120 

And with these words, heaving aloft his dubb 

Into the ayre, he swings the same about, 
Then shakes his lockes, and doth his temples rubb, 

And like the Cyclops in his pride doth strout : 
" Sirra," says hee, ** I have you at a lift ; 125 

Now you are come unto your latest shift ; 

" Perish forever ; with this stroke I send thee 
A medicine that will doe thy thirst much good ; 

Take noe more care for drinke before I end thee, 
And then wee'll have carouses of thy blood I 130 

Here's at thee with a butcher's downright blow, 

To please my furye with thine overthrow 1 " 

" Infemall, false, obdurate feend," said Guy, 
** That seemst a lumpe of crueltye from hell ; 

Ungratefull monster, since thou dost deny 135 

The thing to mee wherin I used thee well. 

With more revenge than ere my sword did make, 

On thy accursed head revenge lie take. 

" The gyants longitude shall shorter shrinke. 

Except thy sun-scorcht skin be weapon proof. 1 10 

Farewell my thirst I I doe disdaine to driiie. 
Streames, keepe your waters to your owne behoof. 

Or let wild beasts be welcome thereunto ; 

With those pearle drops I will not have to do. 

" Here, tyrant, take a taste of my good-will ; 145 

For thus I doe begin my bloodye bout ; 
You cannot chuse but like the greeting ill, — 

It is not that same clubb will beare you out, — 
And take this payment on thy shaggye crowne " — 
A blowe that brought him with a vengeance dowce. 15C 



Gtnr AlO) AMABANT. 183 

Then Guy sett foot upon the monsters brest, 
And from his shoulders did his head divide, 

Which with a yawninge mouth did gape unblest, — 
Noe dragons jawes were ever seene soe wide 

To open and to shut, — till life was spent. 155 

Then Guy tooke keyes, and to the castle went, 

Where manye woefull captives he did find, 

Which had beene tyred with extremityes. 
Whom he in friendly manner did unbind, 

And reasoned with them of their miseryes. 160 

Eche told a tale with teares and sighes and cryes, 
All weeping to him with complaining eyes. 

There tender ladyes in darke dungeons lay, 
J That were surprised in the desart wood. 
And had noe other dyett everye day 165 

But flesh of humane creatures for their food ; 
Some with their lovers bodyes had beene fed. 

And in their wombes their husbands buryed. 

Now he bethinkes him of his being there, 

To enlarge the wronged brethren from their woes ; 170 
And, as he searcheth, doth great clamours heare, 

By which sad sound's direction on he goes 
XJntill he findes a darksome obscure gate, 
Arm'd strongly ouer all with iron plate : 

That he unlockes, and enters where appeares 175 

The strangest object that he ever saw, 
Men that with famishment of many years 

Were like deathes picture, which Uie painters draw ! 
Divers of them were hanged by eche thombe ; 
Others head-downward ; by the middle, some. 18C 

With diligence he takes them from the walls, 
With lybertye their thraldome to acquaint. 

Then the perplexed knight their father calls, 

And sayes, " Eeceive thy sonnes, though poore and 
faint : 

I promiad you their lives ; accept of that ; 185 

But did not warrant you they shold be fat. 



184 THB AULD GOOD-MAN. 

** The castle I doe give thee, heere's the koye% 
Where tyran^o for many yeeres did dwell ; 

Procure the gentle tender ladyes ease ; 

For pittyes sake use wronged women well : 190 

Men easilye revenge the wrongs men do, 

But poore weake women have not strength thereto." 

The good old man, even overjoyed with this, 

Fell on the ground, and wold have kist Guys feete. 

" Father," quoth he, " refraine soe base a kiss I 195 

For age to honor youth, I hold immeete ; 

Ambitious pryde hath hurt mee all it can, 

I goe to mortifie a sinfull man." 

*4,* The foregoing poem on Guy and Amarard has been discovered 
to be a fragment of ** The famous historie of Guy earle of Warwicke^ 
by Samuel Rowlands, London, printed by J. Bell, 1649," 4to, in ziL 
cantod, beginning thus : 

** When dreadful Mars in armour every day." 

Whether the edition in 1649 was the first, is not known, bntthe author, 
Ram. Rowlands, was one of the minor poets who lived in the reigns of 
Queen Elizabeth and James I., and perhaps laiter. His other poems 
are c.iefly of the religious kind, which maJkes it probable that the 
history of Guy was one of his earliest performances. There are extant 
of hid: (1.) "The betraying of Christ, Judas in dispiiire, the seven 
woixls of our Saviour on the crosse, with other poems on the passion, 
&c. 159s" 4to. [Ames Typ. p. 428.] (2.) "A Theatre of delightful 
Recreation. Lond. printed for A. Johnson, 1605," 4to. (Penes editor.^ 
This is a book of poems on subjects chiefly taken from the Old Testa- 
ment. (3.) " Memory of Christ's miracles, in verse. Loud. 1618,** 4tOw 
(4.) " Heaven s glory, earth's vanity, and hell's horror.*' Lond. 1688, 
8vo [These two in Bod. Cat ] 

In the present edition, the foregoing poem has been much improyed 
from the printed copy. 



iir. 

Ci)e auto duutrnnan. 

A SOOmSH BONO. 

I have not been able to meet with a more ancient copy of this humoroni 
oM song, than that printed in The Tea-Tahle MifceUany, Ac, whieb 
seems to have admitted some corruptions. 



THB AULD OOOD-MAK. 185 

Late in an evening forth I went 

A little before the sun gade down, 
And there I chanc't, bj accident, 

To light on a battle new begun : 
A man and his wife wer fawn in a strife, 5 

I canna weel tell ye how it began ; 
But aye she wail'd her wretched Hfe, 

Cryeng, '' Enr alake, mine auld goodman !" 

HE. 

*' Thy auld goodman that thou tells o^ 

The country kens where he was bom, 10 

Was but a silly poor vagabond. 

And ilka ane leugh him to scorn ; 
For he did spend and make an end 

Of gear * his fathers nevir ' wan ; 
He gart the poor stand frae the door ; 16 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman." 

SHE. 

<< My heart, alake I is liken to brake. 

Whan I think on my winsome John, 
His blinkan ee and gait sae free. 

Was naithing like thee, thou dosond drone ; 20 
Wr his rosie face and flaxen hair, 

And skin as white as ony swan. 
He was large and tall, and comely withall ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman." 

HE. 

" Why dost thou plein ? I thee maintein ; 25 

For meal and mawt thou disna want; 
But thy wild bees I canna please 

Now whan our gear gins to grow scant. 
Of houshold stuff thou hast enough ; 

Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; 80 

Of sicklike ware he left thee bare ; 

Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman." 



186 FAIB MAB6ABET AND 

SHE. 

*•• Yes, I may tell and fret my sell 

To think on those blyth days I had. 
Whan I and he together ley 86 

In armes into a well-made bed ; 
But now I sigh and may be sad, 

Thy courage is canld, thy colour wan, 
Thou falds thy feet and fa's asleep ; 

Thou'lt nevir be like mine auld goodman." 10 

Then coming was the night sae dark. 

And gane was a' the light of day ; 
The carle was fear'd to miss his mark. 

And therefore wad nae longer stay. 
Then up he gat and ran his way, 45 

I trowe, the wife the day she wan ; 
And aye the owreword of the fray 

Was, " Evir alake I mine auld goodman I*^ 



IV. 
dTatr fiSLnxfiaxtt antr dloeet Mtlltam. 

This seems to be the old song quoted in Fletcher's Knight of the 
Burning Pestle, acts ii. and iii. ; although the six lines there preserred 
are somewhat different from those in the ballad, as it stands at present. 
The reader will not wonder at this, when he is informed that this is 
only given from a modem printed copy picked up on a stall. Its fuU 
title is, " Fair lifergaret's Misfortune ; or, Sweet William's frightful 
dreams on his wedding-night, with the sudden death and burial ot 
those noble lovers." 
The lines preserved in the play are this distich, 

" You are no love for me, Margaret, 
I am no love for you." 

And the following stanza, 

** When it was grown to dark midnight, 
And all were fast asleep, 
In came Margarets grimly ghost 
And stood at Williams feet." 



SWBBT WILLIAM. 187 

These lines have acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the 
most beautiful ballads in our own or any language. — See the song 
entitled MargareVs Ghost, at the end of this volume. 

Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which 
were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard 
this song repeated in her infancy. 

As it fell out on a long summer's day, 

Two lovers they sat on a hill ; 
They sat together that long summer's day, 

And could not talk their fill. 
" I see no harm by yon, Margaret, 6 

And you see none by mee ; 
Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock 

A rich wedding you shall see." 

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind6w, 

Combing her yellow hair ; 10 

There she spyed sweet William and his bride, 
• . As they were a riding near. 

Then down she layd her ivory combe, 

And braided her hair in twain : 
She went alive out of her bower, 15 

But ne'er came alive in't again. 

When day was gone, and night was come, 

And aU men fast asleep. 
Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret, 

And stood at Williams feet. 20 

" Are you awake, sweet William ? " shee said, 
" Or, sweet William, are you asleep? 

God give you joy of your gay bride-bed, 
And me of my winding sheet." 

When day was come, and night was gone, 25 

And all men wak'd from sleep. 
Sweet William to his lady sayd, 

" My dear, I have cause to weep. 

" I dreamt a dream, my dear lady^, 

Such dreames are never good : . 30 

I dreamt my bower was full of red * wine/ 

And my bride-bed full of blood." 
Ver. 31, 35, swme. p.ca 



188 FAIB MABQABBT AND SWEET WILLIAM. 

** Snch dreams, sucH dreams, my honoured sir. 

They never do prove good ; 
To dream thy bower was fall of red * wine/ 36 

And thy bride-bed full of blood." 

He called up his merry men all, 

By one, by two, and by three ; 
Saying, " ril away to fair Margaret's bower, 

By the leave of my ladi^." 40 

And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower. 

He knocked at the ring ; 
And who so ready as her seven brethren 

To let sweet William in. 

Then he turned up the covering-sheet ; 45 

'* Pray let me see the dead ; 
Methinks she looks all pale and wan. 

She hath lost her cherry red. 

** I'll do more for thee, Margaret, 

Than any of thy kin : 50 

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips. 

Though a smile I cannot win." 

With that bespake the seven brethren. 

Making most piteous mono, 
" You may go kiss your jolly brown bride, 55 

And let our sister alone." 

" If I do kiss my jolly brown bride, 

I do but what is right ; 
I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse, 

By day, nor yet by night. 60 

*^ Deal on, deal on, my merry men all. 

Deal on your cake and your wine : ^ 
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day, 

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine." 

Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,"* 65 

Sweet William dyed the morrow : 
Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love. 

Sweet William dyed for sorrow. 

* Alluding to the dole anciently given at funerals. 



BABBABA ALLEN'S CBUELTY. 189 

Margaret was biiryed in the lower cliano^ 

And William in the higher : 70 

Out of her brest there sprang a rose, 
And out of his a briar. 

They grew till they grew unto the church top, 
And then they coidd grow no higher ; 

And there they tyed in a true lovers knot, 75 

Which made ell the people admire. 

Then came the clerk of the parish. 

As you the truth shall hear, 
And by misfortune cut them down, 

Or they had now been there. 80 



Satbara SttnCa Crurf^. 

Given, with some oorreotions, from an old black-letter oopy entitled, 
" Barbara Allen's cruelty, or the young man's tragedy." 

In Scarlet towne, where I was borne. 

There was a faire maid dwellin, 
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye I 

Her name was Barbara Allen. 

All in the merrye month of May, 5 

When greene buds they were swellin, 

Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay, 
For love of Barbara Allen. 

He sent his man unto her then, 

To the town where shoe was dwellin ; 10 

^ You must come to my master deare, 

QiS your name be Barbara Allen. 

^ For death is printed on his face. 

And ore his hart is stealin : 
Then haste away to comfort him, 15 

O lovelye Barbara Allen." 



190 BARBARA ALLEN 8 GRUELTT. 

" Though death be printed on his face. 

And ore his harte is stealin, 
Yot little better shall he bee 

For bonny Barbara Allen." 20 

So slowly, slowly, she came np. 

And slowly she came nye him ; 
And all she sayd, when there she came, 

" Yong man, I think y'are dying." 

He tnmd his face onto her strait, 25 

With deadlye sorrow sighing ; 
" O lovely maid, come pity mee, 

Ime on my death-bed lying." 

" If on your death-bed you doe lye. 

What needs the tale you are tellin ? 30 

I cannot keep you from your death ; 

Farewell," sayd Barbara Allen. 

Ho tumd his face unto the wall. 

As deadlye pangs he fell in : 
''Adieu 1 adieu 1 adieu to you all, 35 

Adieu to Barbara Allen I ' 

As she was walking ore the fields. 

She heard the bell a knellin ; 
And every stroke did seem to saye, 

" Unworthy Barbara Allen ! " 4(]f 

She turned her bodye round about. 

And spied the corps a coming : 
" Laye down, laye down the corps," she sayd, 

" That I may look upon him." 

With scornful eye she looked downe, 45 

Her cheeke with laughter swellin, 
Whilst all her friends cryd out amaine, 

" Unworthye Barbara Allen I" 

When he was dead, and laid in grave. 

Her harte was struck with sorrowe ; 50 

•* mother, mother, make my bed. 
For I shall dye to-morrowe. 



SWEET William's ghost. 191 

^ Hard-harted creature, him to slight, 

Who loved me so dearlye : 
O that I had beene more kind to him, 55 

When he was alive and neare me ! " 

She, on her death-bed as she laye, 

Beg'd to be buried by him. 
And sore repented of the daye. 

That she did ere denye him. 60 

" Farewell," she sayd, " ye virgins all. 

And shun the fault I fell in : 
Henceforth take warning by the fall 

Of cruel Barbara Allen." 



VI. 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 

From Allan Bamsay's Tea- Table MiaeeOany. The oonolnding stanw 
of this piece seems modern. 

Thebe came a ghost to Margaret's door. 

With many a grievous grone, 
And ay he tirled at the pin. 

But answer made she none. 

« Is this my father Philip ? 5 

Or is*t my brother John ? 
Or is't my true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home ?'* 

« Tis not thy father Philip ; 

Nor yet thy brother John ; 10 

But tis thy true love Willie, 

From Scotland new come home. 

" sweet Margret I dear Margret I 

I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 1 5 

As I gave it to thee." 



192 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 

^ Thy faith and troth thon'se nevir gel, 

' Of me shalt nevir win/ 
Till that thou come within my bower, 

And kiss my cheek and chin." 20 

" If I should oomo within thy bower, 

I am no earthly man : 
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp, 

Thy days will not be iang. 

'' O sweet Margret, dear Margret, 25 

' I pray thee speak to mee : 
Give me my faith and troth, Margret, 
As I gave it to thee." 

" Thy faith and troth thou'se nevir get, 

* Of me shalt nevir win,* 80 

Till thou take me to yon kirk-yard. 
And wed me with a ring." 

" My bones are buried in a kirk-yard 

Afsa beyond the sea. 
And it is but my sprite, Margret, 85 

That's speaking now to thee." 

She stretched out her lilly-white hand. 

As for to do her best ; 
^ Hae there your faith and troth, Willie, 

Qod send your soul good rest." 40 

Now she has kilted her robes of green 

A piece below her knee. 
And a' the live-lang winter night 

The dead corps followed shoe. 

" Is there any room at your head, Willie ? 46 

Or any room at your feet ? 
Or any room at your side, Willie, 

Wherein that I may creep ? " 

" There's nae room at my head, Margret, 

There's nae room at my feet ; 60 

There's no room at my side, Margret, 
My coffin is made so meet." 



ffXB JOHN OKEHME AND BABBABA ALLAN. 193 

Then up and crew the red red cock, 

And up then crew the gray : 
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, 65 

That * I ' were gane away." 

No more the ghost to Margret said, 

But, with a grievous grone, 
Eyanish'd in a cloud of mist, 

And left her all alone. 60 

" O stay, my only true love, stay," 

The constant Margret cried : 
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos'd her een, 

Stretched her saft limhs, and died. 



vn. 

dtr Soi^n &xt^nu antr Sarbara Sllan. 

A SCOTTISH BALLAP, 

EVinted, with a few oonjectural emendations, firom a written copy. 

It was in and about the Martinmas time. 
When the greene leaves wer a fallan. 

That Sir John Grehme o* the west countrye 
Fell in luve wi' Barbara Allan. 

He sent his man down throw the towne, 5 

To the plaice wher she wi^ dwellan : 

^< haste and cum to my maister de^re, 
Gin ye bin Barbara Allan." 

O hooly, hooly raise she up. 

To the plaice wher he was lyan ; 10 

And whan she drew the curtain by, 

•< Young man, I think ye're dyan. " ^ 

> An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes dyand and lyar4 onght to be 
transposed; as the taunt, * Young man, I think ye're lyand,' would b« 
w^rj characterisiici^« 

VOL. n. o 



191 THS bailiff's DAU6HTKB OF I8LIN0T0N. 

" O its I'm sick, and very, very sick, 

And its a' for Barbara Allan." 
" O the better for me ye'se never be, 15 

Though your harts blude wer spillan. 

" Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir, 

Whan ye the cups wer fillan. 
How ye made the healths gae round and round, 

And slighted Barbara Allan ? " 20 

He tnm'd his face unto the wa', 

And death was with him dealan ; 
" Adiew I adiew ! my dear friends a*. 

Be kind to Barbara Allan." 
Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25 

And hooly, hooly left him ; 
And sighan said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa, 

Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan ; 30 

And everye jow the deid-bell geid. 

Cried, « Wae to Barbara Allan I " 
" O mither, mither, mak my bed, 

mak it saft and narrow ; 
Since my love died for me to-day, 36 

Ise die for him to-morrowe." 



VIIL 
fE^t fiaHiS'i Saugi^Ur of Mtngton. 

From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, with some 
improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same 
recited in her youth. The full title is, " True love requited ; or, the 
Bailiffs daughter of Islington." 
Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. 

Thubb was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe. 

And he was a squires son : 
He loved the bayliffes daughter dearey 

That lived in IslingtiMi. 



THB bailiff's DAUGHTEB OF ISLINGTON. 195 

Yet she was coye, and would not believe 5 

That he did love her soe, 
Noe nor at any time woidd she 

Any countenance to him showe. 

But when his friendes did understand 

His fond and foolish minde, 10 

They sent him up to faire London, 

An apprentice for to binde. 

And when he had been seven long yeares, 

And never his love could see, — 
'* Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15 

When she little thought of mee." 

Then all the maids of Islington 

Went forth to sport and playo, 
All but the baylifFes daughter deare ; 

She secretly stole awaye. 20 

She pulled off her gowne of greene. 

And put on ragged attire. 
And to faire London she would go 

Her true love to enquire. 

And as she went along the high road, 25 

The weather being hot and drye, 
She sat her downe upon a green bank, 

And her true love came riding bye. 

She started up, with a colour soe redd. 

Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; 30 

" One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, 
" Will ease me of much paine." 

" Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, 
Praye tell me where you were borne." 

" At Islington, kind sir," sayd shoe, 35 

" Where I have had many a scome." 

" I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to moe, 

O tell me, whether you knowe 
The bayliffes daughter of Islington." 

" She is dead, sir, long agoe." 40 

o 2 



196 THE WILLOW-TBKl. 

" If she be dead, then take my horse, 

My saddle and bridle also ; 
For I will into some farr countrye, 

Where noe man shall me knowe." 

'' O staye, O staye, thou goodlye yoathe, 45 

She standeth by thy side ; 
She is here alive, she is not dead, 

And readye to be thy bride." 

" farewell griefe, and welcome joye. 

Ten thousand times therefore ; 50 

For nowe I have fonnde mine owne true love, 
Whon!> I thought I should never see more."* 



IX. 
C|)t MtOolo^Crte. 

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 

From the small black-letter Collection, entitled, " The Gk>lden Garland 
of princely Delights ; " collated with two other copies, and corrected 
by conjecture. 

WILLY. 

" How now, shepherde, what meaneis that ? 
Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turn*d to branches of greene willowe ? " 

CUDDY. 

'' They are cliang*d, and so am I ; 5 

Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 

Phillis hath forsaken mee, 

Which makes me weare the willowe-tree." 

WILLY. 

" Phillis ! shoe that loVd thee long ? 

Is shoe the lass hath done thee wrong ? 10 

Shee that loVd thee long and best, 

Is her love tamed to a jest ? " 



THE lady's fall. 197 

OUDDT. 

•* Sliee that long true love profest, 

Shee hath robb'd my heart of rest ; 

For she a new love loves, not mee ; 15 

Which makes me wear the willow-tree." 

WILLY, 

" Come then, shepherde, let us joine, 

Since thy happ is like to mine ; 

For the maid I thought most true 

Mee hath also bid adieu." 20 

CUDDY. 

" Thy hard happ doth mine appease, 
Companye doth sorrowe ease ; 
Yet, Phillis, still I pine for thee, 
And still must weare the willow-tree." 

WILLY. 

" Shepherde, be advis'd by mee, 26 

Cast off grief and willowe-tree ; 
For thy grief brings her content : 
She is pleas'd if thou lament." 

CUDDY. 

" Herdsman, Til be rul'd by thee, 

There lyes grief and willowe-tree ; 30 

Henceforth I will do as they. 

And love a new love every day." 



X. 

if given (with corrections) &om the Editor's ancient folio M& collated 
with two printed copies in black-letter : one in the British Museum, 
the other in the Pepys Collection. Its old title is, " A lamentable 
ballad of the Lady's falL" To the tune of Inpeseod timey &c. Tiio 
ballad here referred to is preserved in the Muses lAbrartfy 8vo, p 281. 



198 THE LADTS FALL. 

It is an allegory or vision, entitled, The Shepherd^ » Slumhef^ and opeu 
with some pretty rural images, viz. : 

" In pescod time when hound to horn 
Gives eare till buck be kil'd, 
And little lads with pipes of corne 
Sate keeping beasts a-field. 

" I went to gather strawberries 

By woods and groves full fair," &o. 

Mabkb well my heavy, dolefall tale. 

You loyall lovers all, 
And heedlully beare in yonr brest 

A gallant ladyes fall. 
Long was she wooed, ere shea was wonne 5 

To lead a wedded life, 
But folly wrought her overthrowe 

Before shee was a wife. 
Too soone, alas 1 shee gave consent 

And yeelded to his will, 10 

Though he protested to be true 

And faithfull to her still. 
Shee felt her body altered quite, 

Her bright hue waxed pale. 
Her lovelye cheeks chang'd color white, 15 

Her strength began to fayle. 

Soe that with many a sorrowful sigh, 

This beauteous ladye milde. 
With greeved hart, perceived herselfe 

To have conceived with childe. 20 

Shee kept it from her parents sight 

As close as close might bee, 
And soe put on her silken gowne 

None might her swelling see. 

Unto her lover secretly 25 

Her greefe she did bewray. 
And, walking with him hand in hand. 

These words to him did say : 
" Behold," quoth shee, " a maids distresse 

By love brought to thy bowe ; 80 

Behold I goe with childe by theo. 

The none thereof doth ^owe. 



THE lady's fall 199 

** The litle babe springs in my wombe 

To heare its fathers voyce, 
Lett it not be a bastard called, 36 

Sith I made thee my choyce. 
Come, come, my love, perform thy yowo, 

And wed me out of hand ; 
O leave me not in this extreme 

Of griefe, alas I to stand. 40 

" Think on thy former promises, 

Thy oathes and vowes echo one • 
Eomember with what bitter tearei 

To mee thou madest thy moane. 
Convay me to some secrett place ^ 6 

And marry me with speede ; 
Or with thy rapyer end my life. 

Ere further shame proceede." 

" Alacko I my beauteous love," quoth hee, 

"My joye and only dear, 60 

Which way can I convay thee hence, 

When dangers are so near ? 
Thy friends are all of hye degree. 

And I of meane estate ; 
Full hard it is to gett thee forthe 65 

Out of thy fathers gate." 

'* Dread not thy life to save my fame, 

For, if thou taken bee. 
My selfe will step betweene the swords, 

And take the harme on mee : 60 

Soe' shall I scape dishonor quite, 

And if I should be slaine, 
What could they say but that true love 

Had wrought a ladyes bane. 

** But feare not any further harme ; 65 

My selfe will soe devise 
That I will ryde away with thee 

Unknowen of mortall eyes ; 



200 TH£ LADY*8 FALL. 

Disguised like some pretty page 

lie meet thee in the darke, 70 

And all alone lie come to thee 

Hard by my fathers parke." 

" And there," quoth hee, " He meeie my deare, 

If Grod soe lend me life, 
On this day month without all fityle 75 

I will make thee my wife." 
Then with a sweet and loving kisse 

They parted presentlye, 
And att their partinge brinii^ teares 

Btoode in edie others eye. 80 

Att length the wished day was eome 

On which this beauteous mayd, 
With longing eyes and strange attire. 

For her true lover stayd. 
When any person shee espyed 85 

Come ryding ore the plaine, 
She hop*d it was her owne true love ; 

But all her hopes were vaine. 

Then did shee weepe and sore bewayle 

Hor most imhappy fate ; 90 

Then did shee speake these woefall words, 

As succourless she sate ; 
" O false, forswome, and faithlesse man, 

Disloyall in thy love, 
Hast thou forgott thy promise past, 95 

And wilt thou perjured prove ? 

" And hast thou now forsaken mee 

In this my great distresse, 
To end my dayes in open shame, 

Which thou mightst well redresse ? 100 ' 

Woe worth the time I eer believ'd 

That flattering tongue of thine ; 
Wold God that I had never scene 

The teares of thy false eynej' 



TUE lady's fall. 201 

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh, 105 

Homewards shee went againe ; 
Noe rest came in her waterye eyes, 

Shee felt such priyye paine. 
In travail strong shee felt that night, 

With many a bitter throwe ; 110 

What woefull paines shee then did feel 

Doth eohe good woman knowe. 

Shee called up her waiting mayd 

That lay at her bedds feete, 
Who, musing at her mistress woe^ 115 

Began full fast to weepe. 
" Weepe not," said shee, " but shutt the dores 

And windowes round about. 
Let none bewray my wretched state. 

But keepe all persons out." 120 

" mistress, call your mother deare. 

Of women you have neede. 
And of some skilfall midwifes helpe 

That better may you speed." 
" Call not my mother for thy life, 125 

Nor fetch no woman here ; 
The midwifes helpe comes all too late, 

My death I doe not feare." 

With that the babe sprung from her wombe 

No creature being nye, 180 

And with one sighe, which brake her hart. 

This gentle dame did dye. 
The lovely litle infant yotmge. 

The mother being dead. 
Resigned its new received breath 135 

To him that had it made. 

Next morning came her own tme love, 

Affrighted at the newes, 
And he for sorrow slew himselfe, 

Whom eche one did accuse. 14C 



202 WALT, WALT, LOVK BK BONNT. 

The mother with her new bomo babe 

Were laide both in one grave ; 
Their parents overwome with woe, 

No joy thenceforth cold have. 

Take heed, you dayntye damsells all, 145 

Of flattering words beware, 
And to the honour of your name 

Have an especial care. 
Too true, alas this story is, 

As many one can tell ; 160 

By others harmes leame to be wise, 

And you shall do full welL 



XL 

BtKalp, TOalp, lobe bt Sornig. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 

This is a very ancient song, but we could only give it from a modern 
copy. Some editions, instead of the four last lines in the second stanza, 
have these, which have too much merit to be wholly suppressed : 

" When cockle shells turn siller bells, 

And muscles grow on every tree, 
When frost and snaw sail warm us aw*. 

Then sail my love prove true to me." 

See the Orpheus Cakdonius, &c. 

Arthur's-seat, mentioned in verse 17, is a hill near Edinburgh ; at 
Ihe bottom of which is St. Anthony's well. 

WALT, waly up the bank. 

And waly, waly down the brae, 
And waly, waly yon bum side. 

Where I and my love wer wont to gae. 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 6 
I thought it was a trusty tree ; 

But first it bow*d, and syne it brak, 
Sae my true love did lichtly me. 



WALT, WALT, LOVE BE BONinT. 20S 

O waly, waly, gin love be bonny, 

A little time while it is new ; 10 

Bat when its auld, it waxeth cauld, 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
O wherfore shuld I busk my head ? 

Or wherfore shuld 1 kame my hair? 
For my true love has me forsook, 16 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-Seat sail be my bed. 

The sheets shall neir be fyl'd by me : 
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20 

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw. 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree? 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 
For of my life I am wearie. 

Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 25 

Nor blawing snaws inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 

But my loves heart grown cauld to ma 
Whan we came in by Glasgowe town. 

We were a comely sight to see ; 30 

My love was clad in black velvet. 

And I my sell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kisst. 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35 
And pinnd it with a siller pin. 

And, oh I if my young babe were bom, 

And set upon the nurses knee. 
And I my sell were dead and gane ! 

For a maid again Ise never be. 4C 



204 THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH. 

XII. 

CP^e OSanton WiiU of 8atl^.^ 

From an ancient copy in black-print, in the Pepys Oolleotion. Mr. 
Addison has pronounced this an excellent ballad.— See the SpeetcUor^ 
No. 248. 

In Bath a wanton wife did dwelle, 

As Chaucer he doth write, 
Who did in pleasure spend her dayes, 

And many a fond ddight. 

Upon a time sore sicke she was, 5 

And at the length did dye ; 
And then her soul at Heaven's gate 

Did knocke most mightilye. 

First Adam came unto the gate : 

" Who knocketh there ? " quoth hee. 10 

" I am the Wife of Bath," she sayd, 

" And faine would come to thee." 

" Thou art a sinner,** Adam sayd, 

" And here no place shalt have ; " 
** And so art thou, I trowe," quoth shea, 15 

" * And eke a ' doting knave." 

" I will come in in spight," she sayd, 

*^ Of all such churles as thee ; 
Thou wert the causer of our woe, 

Our paine and misery ; 20 

** And first broke God's commandiments, 

" In pleasure of thy wife : " 
When Adam heard her tell this tale, 

He ranne away for life. 

Ver. 16. Now gip you. P. 

* This ballad was admitted by Percy into the earlier editions of the 
keliques, though excluded from the revised edition of 1794. — Editor. 



^ /^ 



THE WANTON WIFE OP BATH. 205 

Then downe came Jacob at the gate, 25 

And bids her packe to hell : 
" ThoQ false deceiving knave," quoth she, 

" Thou mayst be there as well. 

For thou deceiydst thy &ther dears, 
And thine own brother too :" 30 

Away * slunk' Jacob presently. 
And made no more adoo. 

She knockes again with might and maine, 

And Lot he chides her straite : 
" How now," quoth she, " thou drunken ass, 35 

Who bade thee here to prate ? 

" With thy two daughters thou didst lye. 

On them two bastardes got : " 
And thus most tauntingly she chaft 

Against poor silly Lot. 40 

" Who calleth there," quoth Judith then, 
" With such shrill sounding notes ?" 

" This fine minkes surely came not here," 
Quoth she, '* for cutting throats ! " 

Qood. Lord, how Judith blush'd for shame, 45 

When she heard her say soe I 
King David hearing of the same. 

He to the gate would goe. 

Quoth David, " Who knockes there so loud. 

And maketh all this strife ? " 50 

" You were more kinde, good sir," she sayd, 
" Unto Uriah's wife. 

'' And when thy servant thou didst cause 

In battle to be slaine, 
Thou causedst far more strife than I, 55 

Who would come here so faine." 

** The woman's mad," quoth Solomon, 

<< That thus doth taunt a king ; " 
^ Not half so mad as you," she sayd, 

^ I trowe, in manye a thing. 60 



206 THE WANTON WIFE OF BATH. 

" Thou hadst seven hundred wives at onoe, 

For whom thou didst provide, 
And yet, God wot, three hundred whores 

Thou must maintain beside. 

" And they made thee forsake thy Gk)d, 66 

And worship stockes and stones ; 
Besides the charge they put thee to 

In breeding of young bones. 

" Hadst thou not bin beside thy wits. 

Thou wouldst not thus have ventured ; 70 

And therefore I do marvel much 
How thou this place hast enter'd." 

" I never heard," quoth Jonas then, 

** So vile a scold as this ;" 
" Thou whore-son, run-away," quoth she, 76 

" Thou diddest more amiss." 

" * They say,'" quoth Thomas, " womens tongues 

Of aspen-leaves are made ;" 
" Thou unbelieving wretch," quoth she, 

« AU is not true that's sayd." 83 

When Mary Magdalen heard her then, 

She came unto the gate ; 
Quoth she, " Good woman, you must think 

Upon your former state. 

" No sinner enters in this place," 86 

Quoth Mary Magdalene. " Then 
'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine," 

She answered her agen. 

" You for your honestye," quoth she, 

" Had once been ston'd to death, 90 

Had not our Saviour Christ come by, 
And written on the earth. 

" It was not by your occupation 

You are become divine ; 
I hope my soul, in Christ his passion, 95 

Shall be as safe as thine." 

Ver. 77. I think. P. 



THB WANTON WIFE OP BATH. 207 

Uprose the good apostle Paul ; 

And to this wife he cried, 
" Except thou shake thy sins away, 

Thou here shalt be denved " 100 

'^ Eemember, Paul, what thou hast done 

All through a lewd desire, 
How thou didst persecute God's church 

With wrath as hot as fire." 

Then up starts Peter at the last, 105 

And to the gate he hies ; 
" Fond fool," quoth he, " Imock not so fast, 

Thou weariest Christ with cries." 

" Peter," said she, " content thyselfe, 

For mercy e may be won ; 110 

I never did deny my Christ 

As thou thyselfe hast done." 

When as our Saviour Christ heard this. 

With heavenly angels bright, 
He comes unto this sinful soul, 115 

Who trembled at his sight. 

Of him for mercye she did crave ; 

Quoth he, " Thou hast refas'd 
My profferd grace and mercy both, 

And much my name abus'd." 120 

" Sore have I sinned, Lord," she sayd, 

" And spent my time in vaine ; 
But bring me, like a wandring sheepe, 

Into thy flocke againe. 

" O Lord my GU)d, I will amend 125 

My former wicked vice ; 
The thief for one poor silly word. 

Past into Paradise." 

" My lawes and my commandiments," 

Saith Christ, '* were knowne to thee ; 18C 

But of the same, in any wise, 

Not yet one word did yee." 



208 THE BRIDES BUBIAL. 

«* I grant the same, Lord," quoth she ; 

" Most lowdly did I live ; 
But yet the loying father did 185 

His prodigal son forgive." 

" So 1 forgive thy soul," he sayd, 

" Through thy repenting crye ; 
Gome enter then into my joy, 

I will not thee denye." 140 



xnL 

la^t Hxtaea SurtaL 

From two ancient copies in black-letter : one in the Pepys Collection, 
& le other in the Britiah Museum. 

To the tune of The Lady's FaU. 

Comb mourne, come moume with mee, 

You loyall lovers all ; 
Lament my loss in weeds of woe, 

Whom griping grief doth thrall. 

Like to the drooping vine, 6 

Cut by the gardener's knife. 
Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 

Doth bleed for my sweet wife. 

By death, that grislye ghost. 

My turtle dove is slaine, 10 

And I am left, unhappy man, 

To spend my dayes in paine. 

Her beauty late so bright, 

Like roses in their prime, 
Is wasted like the mountain snowe, 15 

Before warme Phebus* shine. 

Her faire red coloured cheeks 

Now pale and wan ; her eyes, 
That late did shine like crystal stars, 

Alas, their light it dies. 20 



THS bbidk's BUBIAL. 209 

Her pretty lillj hands 

With fingers long and small. 
In colour like the ^rthlye claje, 

Tea, cold and stiff withalL 

When as the morning-star 25 

Her golden gates had spred, 
And that the glittering snn arose 

Forth from fair Thetis' bed; 

Then did my love awake, 

Most like a lilly-flower, 80 

And as the lovely queene of heaven. 

So shone shoe in her bower. 

Attired was shee then 

Like Flora in her pride, 
Like one of bright Diana's nymphs, 35 

So look'd my loving bride. 

And as fair Helen's face 

Did Grecian dames besmircho, 
So did my dear exceed in sight 

All virgins in the church. 40 

When we had knitt the knott 

Of holy wedlock-band. 
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett, 

So stood we hand in hand ; 

Then lo t a chilling cold 45 

Strucke every vital part, 
And griping grief, like pangs of death, 

Seiz'd on my true love's heart. 

Down in a swoon she fell, 

As cold as any stone ; 50 

Like Venus picture lacking life, 

So was my love brought home. 

At length her rosye red 

Throughout her comely face, 
As Phoebus beames with watry doudes, 55 

Was cover'd for a space. 
TOL. n. p 



210 THE BBIDES BUBIAL. 

"Wlien with a grievous groane, 

And voice both hoarse and diye, 
" Farewell," quoth she, " my loving friend. 

For I this daje must dye ; M 

" The messenger of God 

With golden trumpe I see, 
With manye other angels more 

Which sound and ^ill for mee. 

'* Instead of mnsicke sweet, 65 

Go toll my passing-bell ; 
And with sweet flowers strow my grave^ 

That in my chamber smell. 

" Strip off my bride's arraye, 

My cork shoes from my feet ; 70 

And, gentle mother, be not coye 

To bring my winding-sheet. 

" My wedding dinner drest, 

Bestowe upon the poor. 
And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 

Now craving at the door. 

" Instead of virgins yong 

My bride-bed for to see. 
Go cause some cunning carpenter 

To make a chest for mee. 80 

" My bride laces of silk 

Bestowd, for maidens meet, 
May fitly serve, when I am dead. 

To tye my hands and feet. 

" And thou, my lover true, * 86 

My husband and my friend. 
Let me intreat thee here to staye, 

Until my life doth end. 

" Now leave to talk of love. 

And humblye on yonr knee, 90 

Direct your prayers unto God : 

But mourn no more for mee. 



THE BBIDBS BUBIAL. 211 

•* In love as we have livde, 

In love let us depart ; 
And I, in token of my love, 95 

Do kiss thee with my heart. 

^ O staunch tliose bootless teares, 

Thy weeping tis in vaine ; 
I am not lost, for wee in heaven 

Shall one daye meet againe." 100 

With that shee tom'd aside, 

As one dispos'd to sleep, 
And, like a lamb, departed life : 

Whose friends did sorely weep. 

Her true love seeing this, 105 

Did fetch a grievous groane, 
As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, 

And thus he made his moane. 

** O darke and dismal daye, 

A daye of grief and care, 110 

That hath bereffc the sun so bright, 

Whose beams refresht the air. 

" Now woe unto the world 

And all that therein dwell, 
O that I were with thee in heaven, 115 

For here I live in hell I " 

And now this lover lives 

A discontented life. 
Whose bride was brought unto the grave 

A maiden and a wife. 120 

A garland fresh and f aire 

Of lillies there was made. 
In sign of her virginitye. 

And on her cofQn laid. 

Six maidens all in white, 125 

Did beare her to the ground ; 
The bells did ring in solemn sort, 

And made a dolefoll sound. 

p 2 



219 DULonrA. 



In earth they laid her then. 

For hungry wormes a preye ; 130 

So shall the fairest faoe alive 

At length be brought to claye. 



XIV. 

SuUtna. 

Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collec 
tion, the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a 
stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were 
selected from both. 

This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler^ 
^hap. ii. It is more ancient thim the ballad of Bobin Ghod-fe&ow, 
printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben 
Jonson. 

As at noone Dulcina rested 

In her sweete and shady bower 
Came a shepherd and requested 
In her lapp to sleepe an hour. 

But from her looke 5 

A wounde he tooke 
3oe deepe, that for a further boone 

The nymph he prayes. 

Wherto shee sayes, 
" Forgoe me now, come to me ^oone.'' 10 

But in vayne shee did conjure him 

To depart her presence soe ; 
Having a thousand tongues to allure him, 
And but one to bid him goe. 

Where lipps invite, 15 

And eyes delight, 
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, 

Persuade delay ; 

"What boots?" she say, 
^' Forgoe me nQw, come to me soone." 20 



THB LADT ISABELLA'S TRAGXBT. 213 

He demands what time for pleasure 
Can there be more fit than now ; 
She sayes, " Night gives love that leysure 
Which the day can not allow." 

He sayes, "The sight 25 

* Improves delight," 
* Which she denies ; " Nights mirkie noone 

In Venus* playes 

Makes bold," shee sayes ; 
" Forgoe me now, come to me soone.'" 30 

But what promise or profession 

From his hands could purchase scope ? 
Who would sell the sweet possession 
Of suche beautye for a hope ? 

Or for the sight 36 

Of lingering night 
Foregoe the present joyes of noone ? 

Though ne'er soe faire 

Her speeches were, 
" Forgoe me now, come to me soone.*' 40 

How, at last, agreed these lovers ? 

Shoe was fayre and he was young. 
The tongue may tell what th* eye discovers : 
Joyes unseene are never sung. 

Did shee consent, 45 

Or he relent ? 
Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ? 

Left he her a mayd 

Or not ? She sayd, 
'* Forgoe me now, come to me soone.'' 60 



XV. 

rhia ballfid is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Gollec- 
tion, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263, folio. It id 
there entitled, "The Lady Isabella'a Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's 



214 THl LADT ISABELLA'S TBAOKDT. 

Cruelty; beiug a relation of a lamentable and eniel morther, com- 
luitted on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble 
Duke, &c. To the tone of like Ladf^t FaU." To some copies are 
uunexed eight more modem stanzas, entitled. ^'The Dntchees's and 
Cook's Lamentation." 

There was a lord of worthy fame, 

And a hunting he would ride. 
Attended by a noble traine 

Of gentrye by his side. 

And while he did in chase renudne, 5 

To see both sport and playe, 
His ladye went, as she did feigne. 

Unto the church to praye. 

This lord he had a daughter deare. 

Whose beanty shone so bright, 10 

She was beloVd, both far and neare^ 

Of many a lord and knight. 

Fair Isabella was she caird, 

A creature faire was shee ; 
She was her fathers only joye ; 15 

As you shall after see. 

Therefore her cruel step-moth^ 

Did envye her so much, 
That daye by daye she sought her life^ 

Her malice it was such. 20 

She bargained with the master-cook 

To teke her life awaye ; 
And taking of her daughters book, 

She thus to her did saye : — 

" Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye, 26 

Go hasten presentlie. 
And tell unto the master-cook 

These wordes that I tell thee. 

" And bid him dresse to dinner streight 

That £ure and milk-white doe 30 

That in the park doth shine so bright. 
There's none so faire to showe." 



THE LADT ISABELLA'S TBAGEDT. 21t 

This ladye fearing of no hanne, 

Obey'd her moSiers will ; 
And presentlye she hasted home, 35 

Her pleasure to fulfill. 

She streight into the kitchen went, 

Her message for to tell ; 
And there she spied the master-cook, 

Who did with malice swell. 40 

'* No we, master-cook, it must be soe, 

Do that which I thee tell ; 
Tou needes must dresse the milk-white doe, 

Which you do knowe full well." 

Then streight his cruell bloodye hands, 45 

He on the ladye layd ; 
Who quivering and shaking stands, 

While thus to her he sayd : 

'' Thou art the doe that I must dresse ; 

See here, behold my knife ; 50 

For it is pointed presently 

To ridd thee of thy life." 

** O then," cried out the scullion-boye. 

As loud as loud might bee, 
** O save her life, good master-cook, 55 

And make your pyes of mee I 

" For pityes sake do not destroye 

My ladye with your knife ; 
You know shee is her father's joye. 

For Christes sake save her life 1 " 60 

" I will not save her life," he sayd, 

" Nor make my pyes of thee ; 
Tet if thou dost this deed bewraye, 

Thy butcher I will bee." 

Now when this lord he did come home 65 

For to sit downe and eat. 
He called for his daughter deare. 

To come and carxe his meat. 



216 TEE HUB Aan> CBT AFTSB CUFIDl 

** Now Bit yon downe,** His ladye BKjd, 

^ O ait you downe to meat ; 70 

Into some nonnerj she is gone ; 
Yoor dangbter deare forget." 

Then solemnlye lie made a Towe 

Before the companie. 
That he would neither eat nor drink% 75 

Until he did her see. 

then bespake the Bcnllion-boyey 
With a loud voice bo h ye ; 

"If now yon will yonr daughter see. 
My lord, cnt np that pye : 80 

^ Wherein her fleshe is minced smaU, 

And parched with the fire ; 
All caused by her 8tep-moth4r, 

Who did her death desire. 

*' And cursed bee the master-cook, 85 

O cursed may he bee I 

1 proffered him my own heart's blood. 

From death to set her free." 

Then all in blacke this lord did monma, 

And for his daughters sake, 90 

He judged her crnell step-moth^ 
To be burnt at a stake. 

Likewise he judg'd the master-cook 

In boiling lead to stand, 
And made tiie simple scullion-boye 95 

The heire of all his land. 



XVI. 
Ci^e feue anti €w after Cupttr. 

This song is a kind of translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called 
Ainore fuggitivo, generally printed with his Aminta, and originally 
iniitatea from the first Idyllium of Moschus. 



THE HUE AND OBY ATTEB OUPtD. 217 

It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of Lord 
Viscount HadingtOD, on Shrove-Tuesday, 1608. One stanza, full of 
dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of thia 
song printed in a small volume, called Le Prinee cP Amour* Lend. 
1660. 8vo. 

Beauties, have yee seen a toy, 
Called Love, a Httle boy, 
Almost naked, wanton, blinde ; 
Crael now, and then as kinde ? 
^ If he bee amongst yee, say ; 5 

He is Venus' run away. 

Shee, that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 

Shall to-night receive a kisse, 

How, and where herselfe would wish : 10 

But who brings him to his mother 

Shall have that kisse, and another. 

Markes he hath about him plenti© ; 

You may know him among twentie ; 

All his body is a fire, 15 

And his breath a flame entire. 

Which being shot, like lightning, in, 

Wounds the heart but not the skin. 

Wings he hath, which though yee dip, 

He will leape from lip to lip, 20 

Over liver, lights, and heart ; 

Yet not stay in any part. 

And, if chance his arrow misses, 

He will shoot himselfe in kisses. 

He doth beare a golden bow, 25 

And a quiver hanging low, 

Full of arrowes which outbrave 

Dian's shafts ; where, if he have 

Any head more sharpe than other, 

With that flrst he strikes his mother. 30 

Still the fairest are his fuell. 
When his daies are to be cruell; 



218 THS KING OF FBANOl's DAUGHTXB. 

Lovers hearts are all his food, 

And his baths their warmest blond ; 

Nonght bnt wonnds his hand doth season, 85 

And he hates none like to Beason. 

Tmst him not ; his words, though sweet, 

Seldome with his heart doe meet ; 

All his practice is deceit ; 

Eyerie gift is bnt a bait ; 40 

Not a kisse but poyson beares ; 

And most treason's in his teares. * 

Idle minutes are his raigne ; 

Then the straggler makes his gaine 

By presenting maids with toyes, 45 

Ajid would haye yee thinke 'hem joyes; 

'Tis the ambition of the elfe 

To haye all childish as himselfe. 

If by these yee please to know him. 

Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 50 

Though yee had a will to hide him. 

Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him, 

Since yee heare this falser's play. 

And that he is Venus' run-away. 



XVIL 
C|)e Stng of dFtance'tf Saugi^tet. 

The story of this ballad seems to be taken from an incident in the 
domestic history of Oharles the Bald, king of France. His daughter 
Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph, king of England : but before the 
marriage was consummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to 
France ; whence she was carried off by Baldwin, Forester of Flanders ; 
wlio, after many crosses and difficulties, at length obtained the king s 
consent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This 
happened about a.d. 863. — See Rapin, Renault, and the French historians. 
The following copy is given from the Editor's ancient folio MS. 
collated with another in black-letter in the Pepys Collection, entitled, 
** An excellent Ballad of a prince of England s courtship to the king 
of France's daughter, &c. To the tune of Crimson Velvet" 



THB KIKG OF FBANOB's DAUGHTER. 219 

Many breaches having been made in this old song by the hand of 
time, principally (as might be expected) in the quick returns of the 
rhyme, an attempt is here made to repair them. 

In the dayes of old, 

When faire France did flourish, 
Storyes plaine have told 

LoTors felt annoye. 
The qneene a daughter bare, 5 

Whom beantye's queene cUld nourish ; 
She was loyelye faire, 

8he was her fathers joye. 

A prince of England came, 

Whose deeds did merit fame, 10 

But he was exil'd and outcast ; 
LoTe his soul did fire, 
Shoe granted his desire. 

Their hearts in one were linked &bL 
Which when her father proTod, 15 

Sorelye he was moyed 

And tormented in his minde. 

He sought for to preyent them. 
And, to discontent theiii, — 

Fortune crossed these lovers kinde. 20 

When these princes twaine 

Were thus barr'd of pleasure. 
Through the kinges disdaine. 

Which their joyes withstoode. 
The lady soone prepared 25 

Her Jewells and her treasure, 
Having no regard 

For state and royall bloode. 
In homelye poore array 
She went from court away, 30 

To meet her joye and hearts delight; 
Who in a forrest great 
Had taken up his seat, 

To wayt her coming in the night. 
But, lo ! what sudden danger, 85 

To this princely stranger, 



220 THE KING OF FBANCB's DAUGHTXB. 

CbancM as be sate alone I 
By ontlawes he was robbed, 
^d with ponyards stabbed, 

Uttering many a dying grone. 40 

The princesse, arm'd by love, 

And by chaste decire. 
All the night did rove 

Without dread at all, 
Still unknowne, she past 45 

In her strange attire, 
Cloming at the last 

Within echoes call. — 
" You faire woods," quoth shoe, 
" Honoured may you bee, 60 

Harbouring my hearts delight. 
Which encompass here 
My joye and only dearo. 

My trustye friend, and comelye knight. 
Sweete, I come unto thee, 55 

Sweete, I come to woo thee 

That thou mayst not angry bee 
For my long delaying ; 
For thy curteous staying 

Soone amendes He mf^e to thee." 6C 

Passing thus alone 

Through the silent lorest, 
Many a grievous grone 

Sounded in her eares ; 
She heard one complayne 65 

And lament the sorest. 
Seeming all in payne. 

Shedding deadly teares. 
" Farewell, my deare," quoth heo, 
" Whom I must never see, 70 

For why, my life is att an end 
Through villaines crueltye ; 
For thy sweet sake I dye, 

To show I am a faithfull friend. 
Here I lye a bleeding, 76 

While my thoughts are feeding 



THE Kma OF France's DAueHTEB, 221 

On the rarest beautye found. 
O bard happ that may be ! 

Little knowes my ladye 
My heartes-blood lyes on tbe ground." 80 

Witb tbat a grone be sends 

Wbicb did burst in sunder 
All tbe tender bands 

Of bis gentle beart. 
Sbe, wbo knewe bis voice, 85 

At bis wordes did wonder ; 
All ber former joyes 

Did to griefe conyert. 
Strait sbe ran to see 
Wbo tbis man sbold bee, 90 

Tbat soe like ber love did seeme ; 

Her lovely lord sbe found 
Lye slaine upon tbe ground, 

Smear'd witb gore a gbastlye streams. 
Wbicb bis lady spying, 96 

SbriekLng, fainting, crying, 

Her sorrows could not uttered bee ; 
" Fate," sbe cryed, " too cruell I 
For tbee — my dearest Jewell, 

Would God I tbat I bad dyed for tbeo." 100 

His pale lippes, alas ! 

Twentye times sbe kissed, 
And bis face did wasb 

Witb ber trickling teares ; 
Every gaping wound 106 

Tenderlye sbe pressed, 
And did wipe it round 

Witb ber golden baires. 
" Speake, fair love," quotb sbee, 
" Speake, faire prince, to mee ; 110 

One sweete word of comfort give ; 
Lift up tby deare eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

Tbinke in wbat sad griefe I live." 
All in vaine sbe sued, 116 

All in vaine sbe wooed, 



222 THE KING OF FEANCB's DAUGHTIB. 

The prince's life was fled and gone ; 
There stood she still mourning 
Till the snns retonming, 

And bright day was coming on. 120 

In this great distresse 

Weeping, wayling ever, 
Oft shee cryed, alas ! 

" What will become of mee ? 
To my fjAthers court 125 

I retume will neyer, 
But in lowlye sort 

I will a servant bee." 
While thus she made her mone, 
Weepiug all alone, 180 

In this deepe and deadlye feare : 
A fors'ter all in greene. 
Most comelye to be seene, 

Banging the woods did find her there. 
Moved with her sorrowe, 135 

" Maid," quoth hee, " good morrowe, 
What hard happ has brought thee here ? " 

" Harder happ did never 

Two kinde hearts dissever ; 
Here lies slaine my brother deare. 140 

'* Where may I remaine, 

Gentle for'ster, shew me, 
'Till I can obtaine 

A service in my neede ? 
Paines I will not spare ; 145 

This kinde favour doe mee, 
It will ease my care ; 

Heaven shall be thy meede." 
The for'ster all amazed, 
On her beautye gazed, 150 

Till his heart was set on fire : 
" If, faire maid," quoth hee, 
" You will goe with mee. 

You shall have your hearts desire." 
He brought her to his mother, 155 

And above all other 



THE KING OF FBANOE's DAUGHTSB. 223 

He sett forth this maideiis praise. 
Long was his heart inflamed, 
At length her love he gained, 

And fortune crown'd his future dayes. 160 

Thus unknowne he wedde 

With a Mugs faire daughter ; 
Children seven they had. 

Ere she told her birth, 
Which when once he knew, 165 

Humblye he besought her, 
He to the world might shew 

Her rank and princelye worth. 
He cloath'd his children then, 
(Not like other men) 170 

In partye-colours strange to see ; 
The right side cloth of gold, 
The left side to behold . 

Of woollen cloth still framed hee.^ 
Men thereatt did wonder, 175 

Golden fame did thunder 

This strange deede in every place ; 
The King of France came thither, 
It being pleasant weather. 

In those woods the hart to chase. 180 

The children then they bring, 

So their mother will'd it. 
Where the royall king 

Must of force come bye 
Their mothers riche array . 186 

Was of crimson velvet ; 

' This will remind the reader of the livery and device of Charles Bran- 
don, a private gentleman, who man*ied the Qneen-dowager of France, 
Bister of Henry VIII. At a tournament which he held at his wedding, the 
trappings of his horse were half cloth of gold, and half fneze, with the 
following motto : 

" Cloth of Gold, do not despise, 
Tho* thou art matcht with Cloth of Friae ; 
Cloth of Frize, \>e not too bold, 
Tho* thou art i^tcht with Cloth of Gold." 

See Sir W. Temple's Misc. vol. iii. p. 356. 



224 THE Kora of fbanoes daughter. 

Tbeir fathers all of gray, 

Seemelye to the eye. 
Then this famons king, 
Noting eyery thing, 190 

Askt how he durst be so bold 
To let his wife soe weare, 
And decke his children there 

In costly robes of pearl and gold. 
The forrester replying, 196 

And the cause descrying, > 

To the king these words did say, 
" Well may they, by their mother, 
Weare rich clothes with other. 

Being by birth a princesse gay." 200 

The king aroused thus. 

More heedfullye beheld thorn, 
Till a crimson blush 

His remembrance crost. 
" The more I fix my mind 206 

On thy wife and children. 
The more methinks I find 

The daughter which I lost." 
Falling on her knee, 
" I am that child," quoth shoe, 210 

" Pardon mee, my soveraine liege I " 
The king perceiving this 
His daughter deare did kiss. 

While joyfull teares did stopp his speeche, 
With his traine he toumed, 215 

And with them sojourned ; 

Strait he dubb'd her husband knight ; 
Then made him Erie of Flanders, 
\nd chiefe of his commanders ; — 

Thus were their sorrowes put to flight. 220 

♦ * 

' •'. e. deschbing. — See Gloss. 



THE OHILDBEN IN THIS WOOD. 225 

xvin. 

This little madrigal (extracted from Ben Jonson's BUerU Woman, 
•ot i 8c. 1, first acted in 1609) is in imitation of a Latin poem printed 
at the end of the variorum edit, of Petronios, beginning, **8empet 
munditias, semper BasiUaaa^ decora»t* &o. See Whalley*s Ben Jouson, 
voL ii. p. 420. 

Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd ; 

Lady, it is to be presumed. 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 6 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a looke, give me a face 

That makes simplicitie a grace ; 

Eobes loosely flowing, haire as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me 10 

Than all th' adulteries of art 

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 



XIX. 
C|)e CfitUlrnt in t|)e Saiootf. 

The subject of this yery popular ballad (which has be^n set in so 
favourable a light by the Spectator, No. 85) seems to be taJsen from 
an old play, entitled, ** Two lamentable Tragedies ; the one of the 
murder of Maister Beech, 'a chandler in Thames-btreete, &c. The 
other of a young child murtbered in a wood by two ruffins with the 
consent of his unkle. 3y Rob, Yarrington, 1601, 4to." Our ballad- 
maker h ts strictly followed the play in the description of the father 
and mother's dying charge : in the uncle^s promise to take care of 
their issue : hid hiding two ruffians to destroy his ward, under preten. e 
of sending him to school: their choosing a wood to perpetiate the 
murder in : one of the ruffians rolei^ting, and a battle ensuing, &c. In 
other respects he has departed from tlie play. In the latter, the scene 
IB laid in Padua: there is but one child, which is murdered bv a 
fudden stab of the un^leuting ruffian : he U filain JtuiutM-lf by his leia 
VOL. II. Q 



E 



220 THE OHlLDRKu iN THE WOOD. 

bloody oompanion ; but ere he ilies he pves the other a mortal wound : 
the lattiT livin«: just long enough to impeach the uncle : who, in ooo- 
Hcquence of this impeachment, is arraigned and executed by the hand 
of justice, &c. Whoever compares the play with the ballad, will 
nave no doubt but the former is the ori^nal: the lang^nage is &r 
more obsolete. an<l such a vein of simplicity runs through tiie whole 
icrformanco, that, iiad the ballad been writ&n first, there is no doubt 
)ut every circumstance of it would have been received into the drama : 
vvhert-as thid was probably built on some Italian no^el. 

Fiintod from two ancient copies, one of them in black-letter in the^ 
Pepva collection. Its title at large is — " The Children in the Wood : 
or, the Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament : to the tune of 
H(Hjero^ &c.*' 

Now ponder well, you parents deare, 

These wordes which I shall write ; 
A doleful story you shall heare, 

In time brought forth to light. 
A gentleman of good account 5 

In Norfolke dwelt of late, 
Who did in honour far surmount 

Most men of his estate. 

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, 

No helpe his life could save ; 10 

His wife by him as sicke did lye. 

And both possest one grave. 
No love between these two was lost, 

Each was to other kinde ; 
In love they liv*d, in love they dyed, 16 

And left two babes behinde : 

The one a fine and pretty boy, 

Not passing three yeares oLle ; 
The other a girl more young than he 

And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20 

The father left his little son, 

As plaiulye doth appeare, 
When he to perfect age should come, 

Three hundred jioundes a year 

And to his little daughter Jane 26 

Five hundred poundes in gold, 
To be paid downe on marriage-day, 

Wbioh might not be controU'd : 



THE OHILDESN IK THE WOOD. 227 

Bnt if the cliildren cbance to dye, 

Ere they to age should come, 80 

Their uncle should possesse their wealth ; 

For so the wille did run. 

" Now, brother," said the dying man, 

" Look to my children deare ; 
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35 

No friendes else haye they here : 
To God and you I recommend 

My children deare this daye ; 
Bat Httle while be sure we have 

Within this world to staye. 40 

" You must be father and mother botb, 

And uncle all in one ; 
Gk)d knowes what will become of them, 

When I am dead and gone." 
With that bespake their mother deare, 45 

" O brother kinde," quoth shoe, 
" You are the man must bring our babes 

To wealth or miserie : 

" And if you keep them carefally, 

Then Gk)d will you reward ; 60 

But if you otherwise should deal, 

God will your deedes regard." 
With lippes as cold as any stone, 

They kist their children small : 
*' God bless you both, my children deare ; *' 65 

With that the teares did falL 

These speeches then their brother spake 

To this sicke couple there : 
" The keeping of your little ones, 

Sweet sister, do not feare. 60 

God neyer prosper me nor mine, 

Nor aught else that I haye. 
If I do wrong your children deare, 

When you are layd in grave." 

Q S 



THI CHILDBKS IS THS WVMID 

The parents being dead and gone, 66 

The children home he takes. 
And bringea them straite nnto his honse^ 

Where much of them he makes. 
He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelyemonth and a daye, 70 

But, for their wealth, he did deyise 

To make them both awaye. 

He bargained with two ruffians strong, 

Which were of forions mood. 
That they should take these cldldren young, 75 

And slaye them in a wood. 
He told his wife an artful tale : 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in faire London, 

With one that was his Mend. 80 

Away then went those pretty babes, 

Bejoycing at that tide, 
Bejoycing with a merry minde, 

They should on cock-horse rida 
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85 

As tiiey rode on the waye, 
To those that should their butchers be, 

And worke their liyes decaye : 

So that the pretty speeche they had, 

Made Murder's heart relent : 90 

And they that undertooke the deed. 

Full sore did now repent. 
Yet one of them more hard of heart 

Did vowe to do his charge, 
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95 

Had paid him yery large. 

The other won't agree thereto, 

So here they fall to strife ; 
With one another they did fight. 

About the childrens life : 100 



THB OHILBBEN IN THE WOOD. 229 

And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slaye the other there, 
Within an unfrequented wood ; 

The babes did quake for feare I 

He took the children by the hand, 105 

Teares standing in their eye. 
And bade them strait wayo follow him, 

And look they did not crye : 
And two long miles he ledd them on, 

While they for food complaine : 110 

* Staye here," quoth he, " I'll bring you bread. 

When I come back againe." 

These pretty babes, with hand in hand, 

Went wandering up and downe ; 
But never more could see the man 115 

Approaching from the town : 
Their prettye Sppes with black-berries. 

Were all besmeared and dyed. 
And when they sawe the darksome night. 

They sat them downe and cryed. 120 

Thus wandered these poor innocents, 

Till deathe did end their grief. 
In one anothers armes they dyed, 

As wanting due relief: 
No burial * this ' pretty * pair ' 125 

Of any man receives, 
Till Eobin-red-breast piously 

Did cover them with leaves. 

And now the heavy wrathe of God 

Upon their uncle fell ; 130 

Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, 

His conscience felt an hell ; 
His bames were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, 

His lands were barren made, 
His cattle dyed within the field, 135 

And nothing with him stayd. 

Ver. 125, these . . babes. pp.a 



28C A LOTXB or LATE. 

And in a voyage to Portugal 

Two of Lib sonnes did dye ; 
And to conolode, himselfe was brought 

To want and miserye : 140 

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land 

Ere seyen yeares came about, 
And now at length this wicked act 

Did by this meanes come out : 

The fellowe, that did take in hand 145 

These children for to kill, 
Was for a robbery jndg'd to dye, 

Such was God's blessed will : 
Who did confess the yery truth, 

As here hath been display'd : 150 

Their uncle having dyed in gaol, 

Where he for debt was layd. 

You that executors be made, 

And overseers eke 
Of children that be fatherless, 155 

And infants mild and meek ; 
Take you example by this thing, 

And yield to each his right, 
Lest Qod with such like miserye 

Your wicked minds requite. 160 



XX. 

9 lobev of Hate. 

Priutud, with a few slight oorreotions, from the Editor's folio MS. 

A LOVBB of late was I, 

For Oupid would have it soe, 
The boy that hath never an eye, 
As every man doth know. 
I sighed, and sobbed, and cryed, alas f 
For her that laught and called me ass. 



THK KINO AND HILLEB OF MANSFIELD. 281 

Then knew not I what to doe 

When I saw itt was in vaine 
A lady soe coy to wooe, 

Who gave me the asse so plaine. 10 

Yet would I her asse freelye bee, 
Soe shoe would helpe and beare with mee. 

An I were as faire as shee, 

Or shee were as kind as I, 
What payre cold have made, as wee, 15 

Soe prettye a sympathye ? 
I was as kind as she was faire, 
But for all this wee cold not paire. 

Paire with her that will, for mee I 

With her I will never paire 2C 

That cunningly can be coy, 
For being a little faire. 
The asse He leave to her disdaine, 
And now I am myselfe againe. 

Ver. 13, faine. MS. 



XXI. 

C|)e Sing antr ^e iSiilUt of iWan^ffifeUr. 

It has been a favourite subject with our Enp^lish ballad-makers, to 
represent our kings conversing, either by accident or design, with the 
meanest of their subjects. Of the former kind, besides the song of the 
King and the Miller, we have King Henry and the Soldier; King 
James I. and the Tinker; King William ill. and tbfi Forester, &c. 
Of the latter sort are King Alfred and the Shepherd ; Kiug Edward IV. 
and the Tanner ; King Henry VIII. and the Cobbler, &c. — A few of 
the best of these are admitted into this Collection. Both the author 
of tlie following ballad, and others who have written on the s<ime plan, 
seem to have copied a very ancient poem, entitled John the Reeve, 
which is built on an adventure of the same kind, that happened 
between Kiug Edward Longshanks and one of his reeves or bailiffs. 
This is a piece of great antiquity, being written before the time of 
Edward the Fourth, and for its genuine humour, diverting incidents, 
and faithful picture of rustic manners, is infinitely superior to all that 
have been since written in imitation of it. The Editor has a copy in 
his ancient folio MS., but its length rendered it improper for this 



232 THE KING AND MILLEB OF UAXSrOUK 

volume, it consisting of more than 900 lini)s. It oontahiB also i 
corruptions ^nd tlie Editor chooses to deftT its publication, in hopei 
that Bouie time or other he shall be able to remove them. 

The following is printeil, 'v^ith corrections, from the Editw's folio 
MS. collated with an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection. 
entitled, **A pleasant ballad of King Henry H. and the Miller m 
Blansfield," &o. 

PABT THE FIRST. 

TiEyBT, our royall king, wonld ride a htmtmg 

To the greene forest so pleasant and faire ; 
To see the barts skipping, and dainty does tripping, 

Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire : 
Hawke and hound were nnbonnd, all things prepar'd 5 

For the game, in the same, with good regard. 

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye, 

With all his princes and nobles echo one ; 
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bncke gallantlye, 

Till the dark evening forc'd all to tnme home. IC 

Then at last, riding fast, he had lost qnite 
All his lords in the wood, late in the night. 

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe^ 

With a rude miller lie mett at the last ; 
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham, 15 

*• Sir," quoth the miller, " I meane not to jest, 
Yet I thiiie, what I thinke, sooth for to say ; 
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way." 

" Why, what dost thou think of me," quoth our king merrily, 
" Passing thy judgment upon me so briefe ? " 20 

** Good faith," sayd the miller, *' I meane not to flatter thee, 
1 guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe ; 

Stand thee baeke, in the darke ; light not adowne, 

Lest that I presently crack thy knaves crowne." 

" Thou dost ahuse me much," quoth the king, '* saying 
thus ; 25 

I am a gentleman ; lodging I lacke." 
" Thou hast not," quoth th* miller, " one groat in thy purse 

All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe." 
*' I have gold to discharge all that I call ; 
If it bo forty pence, I wUl pay alL" SO 



THB KING AND MILLEB OF MANSFIELD. 283 

** If thou beest a true man," then quoth the miller, 
" I sweare by my toll-dish, 111 lodge thee all night." 

'* Here's my hand," quoth the king, " that was I ever." 
" Nay, soft,'* quoth the miller, " thou may'st be a sprite. 

Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake ; 36 

With none but honest men hands will I take." 

Thus they went all along unto the millers house. 
Where they were seething of puddings and souse , 

The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king ; 

Never came hee in soe smoakye a house. 40 

" Now," quoth hee, " let me see hero what you are." 

Quoth our king, " Looke your fill, and do not spare." 

" I like well thy countenance, thou hast an honest &ce : 
With my son Eichard this night thou shalt lye." 

Quoth his wife, "By my troth, it is a handsome youth, 45 
Yet it's best, husband, to deal warilye. 

Art thou no run-away, prythee, youth, tell ? 

Shew me thy passport, and all shal be well." 

Then our king presentlye, making lowe courtesye, 

With his hatt in his hand, thus he did say ; 50 

" I have no passport, nor never was servitor, 
But a poor courtyer rode out of my way : 

And for your kindness here offered to mee, 

I will requite you in everye degree." 

Then to the miller his wife whisper'd secretlye, 66 

Saying, " It soemeth, this youth's of good kin, 

Both by his apparel, and eke by his manners ; 
To turne him out, certainlye were a great sin." 

" Yea," quoth hee, ** you may see he hath some grace, 

When he doth sp^ike to his betters in place." 60 

" Well," quo' the millers wife, " young man, ye're welcome 
here ; 

And, though I say it, well lodged shall be : 
Fresh straw will I have, laid on thy bed so brave 

And good brown hempen sheets likewise," quoth shee. 
" Aye," quoth the good man ; •* and when that is done, 66 
Thou shalt lyo with no worse than our own sonne." 



284 TRS KINO A9D MtLLSB OV MANSFIBLD. 

** Nay, first," qnoth Richard, " good-fellowe, tell me true. 
Hast thou noe creepers within thy gay hose? 

Or art thou not troubled with the scabbado ? " 

** I pray," quoth the king, " what creatures are those ? " 70 

" Art thou not lowsy, nor scabby ? " quoth he : 

" If thou beest, surely thou lyest not with mee.*' 

This caus*d the king, suddenlye, to laugh most heartilye, 
Till the teares trickled fast downe from his eyes. 

Then to their supper were they set orderlye, 76 

With hot bag-puddings, and good apple-pyes ; 

Nappy ale, good and stcde, in a browne bowle, 

Which did about the board merrilye trowle. 

" Here," quoth the miller, ** good fellowe, I drinke to thee, 
And to all * cuckholds, wherever they bee.' " 80 

" I pledge thee," quoth our king, *' and thanke thee heartilye 
For my good welcome in everye degree : 

And here, in like manner, I drinke to thy sonne." 

" Do then," quoth Richard, *' and quicke let it come." 

« Wife," quoth the miller, " fetch me forth lightfoote, 86 

And of his sweetnesse a little we'll taste." 
A fair ven'son pastye brought she out presentlye, 

" Eate," quoth the miller, " but, sir, make no waste. 
Here's dainty lightfoote I " "In faith," sayd the king^ 
" I never before eat so daintye a thing." 90 

" I-wis," quoth Richard, " no daintye at all it is, 

For we doe eate of it everye day." 
" In what place," sayd our king, " may be bought like to 
this?" 

" We never pay pennye for itt, by my fay : 
From merry Sherwood we fetch it home here ; 96 

Now and then we make bold with our kings deer." 

** Then I thinke," sayd our king, *' that it is venison." 
" Eche foolo," quoth Richard, " full well may know that i 

Never are wee without two or three in the roof. 

Very well fleshed, and excellent fat : 100 

But, prythee, say nothing wherever thou goe ; 

We would not, for two pence, the king should it knowe." 

Yer. 80, courtnalls, that courteous be. MS. and P.a 



THE KnrC AKP MILLEB 07 MAKSlilEIiD. 285 

" Doubt not," then sayd the king, " my promist secresye ; 

The king shall never know more on't for mee." 
A cupp of lambs-wool they dranke unto him then, 105 

And to their bedds they past presentlie. 
The nobles, next morning, went all up and down, 
For to seeke out the king in everye towne. 

At last, at the millers ' cott,' soone they espy'd him out, 
As he was mounting upon his faire steede ; 110 

To whom they came presently, falling down on their knee ; 
Which made the nuUers heart wofully bleede ; 

Shaking and quaking, before him he stood. 

Thinking he should have been hang'd, by the rood. 

The king perceiving him fearfully trembling, 115 

Drew forth his sword, but nothing he sed : 
The miller downe did fall, crying before them all, 

Doubting the king would have cut off his head. 
But he his kind courtesye for to requite. 
Gave him great living, and dubb'd him a knight. 120 

PAET THE SEOONDE. 

When as our royall king came home from Nottingham, 

And with his nobles at Westminster lay, 
Becounting the sports and pastimes they had taken. 

In this late progress along on the way. 
Of them all, great and small, he did protest, 5 

The miller of Mansfield's sport liked him best. 

'' And now, my lords," quoth the king, ** I am determined 

Against St. Q^orges next sumptuous feast. 
That this old miller, our new confirmed knight. 

With his son Bichard, shall here be my guest : 10 

For, in this merryment, 'tis my desire 
To talke with the jolly knight, and the young squire." 

When as the noble lords saw the kinges pleasantness. 
They were right joyfull and glad in their hearts : 

A pursuivant there was sent straighte on the business, 15 
The which had often-times been in those parts. 

When he came to the place where they did dwell, 

His message orderlye then 'gan he tell. 



236 THB Ema akd milleb of mansfibld. 

** God save your worshippe," then said the messenger, 

** And grant your ladye her own hearts desire ; 20 

And to your sonne Eichard good fortune and happiness. 
That sweet, gentle, and gallant young squire. 

Our king greets you well, and thus he doth say, 

You must come to the court on St. Gteorge s day. 

" Therefore, in any case, faile not to be in place." 25 

" 1-wis," quoth the miller, " this is an odd jest : 

What should we doe there ? faith, I am halfe afraid." 
" I doubt," quoth Richard, « to be hang'd at the least." 

" Nay," quoth the messenger, " you doe mistake ; 

Our king he provides a great feast for your sake." 80 

Then sayd the miller, " By my troth, messenger, 
Thou hast contented my worshippe full well: 

Hold, here are three farthings, to quite thy gentleness, 
For these happy tydings which then dost tell. 

Let me see, hear thou mee ; tell to our king, 35 

We'll wayt on his masterslupp in everye thing." 

The pursuivant smiled at their simplicitye, 
And making many leggs, tooke their reward, 

And his leave taking with great humilitye, 

To the kings court againe he repaired ; 40 

Shewing unto his grace, merry and free. 

The knightes most liberall gift and bountie. 

When he was gone away, thus gan the miller say : 

" Here comes expenses and charges indeed ; 
Now must we needs be brave, tho* we spend all we have^ 45 

For of new garments we have great need. 
Of horses and serving- men we must have store. 
With bridles and saddles, and twentye things more." 

" Tushe, Sir John," quoth his wife, " why should you frett 
or frowne ? 

You shall ne'er be att no charges for mee ; 50 

For I will tume and trim up my old russet gowne. 

With everye thing else as fine as may bee ; 
And on our mill-horses swift we will ride. 
With pillowes and pannells, as we shall provide." 



THE KING AND UniiTiEB OF MANSFl£!LD. 237 

In this most statelye sort, rode they unto the court ; 55 

Their jolly sonne Kichard rode foremost of all. 

Who set up, for good hap, a cocks feather in his cap, 
And so they jetted downe to the kings hall ; 

The merry old miller with hands on his side ; 

His wife like maid Marian did mince at that tide. 60 

The king and his nobles, that heard of their coming. 
Meeting this gallant knight with his brave traine, 

** Welcome, sir faiight," quoth he, " with your gay lady ; 
Good Sir John Cockle, once welcome againe ; 

And so is the squire of courage soe free." 65 

Quoth Dicke, " A bots on you I do you know mee ? " 

Quoth our king gentlye, ** How should I forget thee.? 

Thou wast my owne bed-fellowe, well it I wot." 
** Yea, sir," quoth Kichard, " and by the same token, 

Thou with thy farting didst make the bed hot." 70 

"Thou whore-son unhappy knave," then quoth the knight, 
*• Speake cleanly to our kmg, or else go sh***." 

The king and his courtiers laugh at this heartily. 
While the king taketh them both by the hand ; 

With the court- dames and maids, like to the queen of 
spades, 75 

The millers wife did soe orderly stand, 

A milk-maids courtesye at every word ; 

And downe all the fo£kes were set to the board. 

There the king royally, in princelye majestye. 

Sate at his dinner with joy and delight ; 80 

When they had eaten wel^ flien he to jesting fell. 
And in a bowle of wine dranke to the knight 

" Here's to you both, in wine, ale, and beer ; 

Thanking you heartilye for my good cheer." 

Quoth Sir John Cockle, " 111 pledge you a pottle, 85 

Were it the best ale in Nottinghamshire :" 

V. 57, for good hap : t. e. for good luck ; they were going on an 
hazardous expedition. 

y. 60. Maid Marian, in the Morris dance, was represented hj a man in 
woman's clothes, who was to take short steps in order to sustain the female 
character. 



THX EIKG AND AiliiLEH OF MANSFIBLD. 

But then sayd our king, «* Now I tliink of a thing ; 

Some of your lightfoote I would we had here." 
'* Ho I ho I " quoth Bichard, " full well I may say it, 
'Tis knavery to eate it, and then to betray it." 90 

" Why art thou angry ? " quoth our king merrilye ; 

'* In faith, I take it now very unkind : 
I thought thou wouldst pledge me in ale and wine heartily." 

Quoth Dicke, *' You are like to stay till I have din'd : 
Ton feed us with twatling dishes so small ; 95 

Zounds, a blacke-pudding is better than all." 

" Aye, marry," quoth our king, " that were a daintye thing, 

Could a man get but one here for to eate : " 
With that Dicke straite arose, and pluckt one from his hose. 

Which with heat of his breech gan to sweate. 100 

The king miide a proffer to snatch it away : — 
" *Tis meat for your master : good sir, you must stay." 

Thus in great merriment was the time wholly spent, 

And then the ladyes prepared to dance. 
Old Sir John Cockle, and Bichard, incontinent 105 

Unto their places the king did advance. 
^ere with the ladyes such sport they did make, 
The nobles with laughing did make their sides ake. 

Many thankes for their paines did the king give them, 
Asking young Bichard then, if he would wed ; 110 

" Among these ladyes free, tell me which liketh thee ? " 
Quoth he, " Jugg Grumball, Sir, with the red head. 

She's my love, she's my life, her will I wed ; 

She hath sworn I shall have her maidenhead." 

Then Sir John Cockle the king call'd unto him, 115 

And of merry Sherwood made him o'er seer. 

And gave him out of hand three hundred pound yearlye : 
" Take heed now you steale no more of my deer ; 

And once a quarter let's here have your view ; 

And now, Sir John Cockle, I bid you adieu." 120 



i 



THE SHEPHERD 8 BESOLUTION. 289 

xxn. 

Thlfl beautiful old song was written by a poet, whose name would 
have been utteriy forgotten, if it had not been preserved by Swift, as 
a term of contempt. " Dryden and Wither " are coupled by him like 
the Bavius and MsbvIus of Virgil. Dryden, however, has had justice 
done him by posterity and as for Wither, though of subordinate merit, 
that he* was not altogether devoid of genius will be judged from the 
following stanzas. The truth is. Wither was a very voluminous partv- 
writer ; and as his political and satirical strokes rendered him extremely 
popular in his lifetime, so afterwards, when these were no longer relished, 
they totally consigned his writings to oblivion. 

George Wither was bom June 11, 1588, and in his younger years 
distinguished himself by some pastoral pieces, that were not inelegant ; 
but growing afterwards involved in the political and religious diuputcs 
in the times of James I. and Charles I., he employed his poetical vein 
in severe pasquils on the court and clergy, and was occasionally a 
sufferer for the freedom of his pen. In the civil war that ensued, he 
exerted himself in the service of the Parliament, and became a con- 
'Siderable sharer in the spoils. He was even one of those provincial 
tyrants whom Oliver distributed over the kingdom, under the name of 
Major-Generals, and had the fleecing of the county of Surrey; but, 
surviving the Bestoration, he out-lived both his power and his affluence; 
and giving vent to his chagrin in libels on the court, was long a prisoner 
in Newgate and the Tower. He died at length on the 2ud of May, 
1667. 

During the whole course of his life. Wither was a continual publisher, 
having generally for opponent Taylor the Water-poet. The long list 
of his productions may be seen in Wood's Athense Oxon. vol. ii His 
most popular satire is entitled, AbiMes whipt and stripty 1613. His 
most poetical pieces were eclogue, entitled, The Shepherd's Hunting, 
1615, 8vo, and others printed at the end of Browne's 8Iiepherd*8 Pipe, 
1614, 8vo. The following sonnet is extracted from a long pastoral 
piece of his, entitied, The MUtrewe of Philurete, 1622, 8vo, which is 
said in the preface to be one of the author's first poems ; and may 
therefore be dated as early as any of the foregoing. 

Shall I, wasting in dispaire, 

Dye because a woman's faire ? 

Or make pale my cheeks with care 

'Cause another's rosie are ? 

]^e sbee fairer than the day, 6 

Or the flowry meads in may ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how faire shea be f 



2i0 THE shepherd's besolutiov. 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 

'Cause I see a woman kind ? 10 

Or a well-disposed nature 

Joyned with a lovely feature ? 

Be shee meeker, kinder than 

The turtle-dove or pelican ; 

If shee be not so to me, 16 

What care I how kind shee be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love ? 

Or, her well-deservings knowne. 

Make me quite forget mine owne ? 20 

Be shee with that goodnesse blest 

Which may merit name of Best ; 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be ? 

'Cause her fortune seems too high 25 

Shall I play the foole and dye ? 
Those that beare a noble minde. 
Where they want of riches find, 
Thinke what with them they would doe 
That without them dare to woe ; 30 

And, unlesse that minde I see. 
What care I how great she be ? 

Great or good, or kind or faire, 

I will ne'er the more dispaire ; 

If she love me, this beleeve : 36 

I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If she slight me when I wooe, 

I can scorne and let her goe ; 

If she be not fit for me, 

What care I lor whom she be ? 40 



QtEEN DIBO. 2dl 

xxm. 

©uetn Bitio. 

Snch is the title given in the Editor's folio MS. to this excellent old 
"Bttllad, which, in the common printed copies, is inscribed, Eneas^ 
Wandering Prince of Troy. It is here given from that MS. collated 
with two diflerent printed copies, both in black-letter, in the Pepys 
Collection. 

The reader will smile to observe with what natural and affecting 
simplicity our ancient ballad-maker has engrafted a Gothic concli'sion 
on the classic story of Virgil, from whom, however, it is probable he 
had it not. Nor can it be denied, but he has dealt out his poetical 
histice with a more impartial hand than that celebrated poet. 

When Troy towne had, for ten yeeres * past,* 

Withstood the Greekes in manfuU wise, 
Then did their foes encrease soe fast. 
That to resist none could suffice : 
Wast lye those walls, that were soe good, 5 

And come now growes where Troy towne stoode. 

^neas, wandering prince of Troy, 

When he for land long time had sought, 
At length arriving with great joy. 

To mighty Carthage walls was brought ; 10 

Where Dido queene, with sumptuous feast. 
Did entertaine that wandering guest. 

And, as in hall at meate they sal/e. 

The queene, desirous newes to heare, 
* Says, " Of thy Troys unhappy fate,' 15 

Declare to me, thou Trojan deare : 
The heavy hap and chance soe bad, 
That thou, poore wandering prince, hast had." 

And then anon this comelye knight, 

With words demure, as he cold well, SC 

Of his unhappy ten yeares ' fight,' 
Soe true a tale began to tell. 
With words soe sweete, and sighes soe deepe, 
That oft he made them all to weepe. 

Ver. 1, 21, war. MS. and P.O. 
VOL. II. B 



242 QUXEN DIDO. 

And then a thousand sighes he fet, 25 

And evory sigh brought teares amaine ; 
That where ho sate the place was wetl, 

As though he had seene those warrs againe : 
See that the queene, with ruth therfore, 
Said, " Worthy prince, enough, no more." 30 

And then the darksome night drew on, 

And twinkling starres the skye bespred. 
When he his dolefull tale had done. 
And every one was layd in bedd : 
Where they full sweetly tooke their rest, 35 

Save only Dido's boyling brest. 

This silly woman never slept, 

But in her chamber, all alone. 
As one unhappye, alwayes wept. 

And to the walls shee made her mone ; 40 

Tbat she shold still desire in vaine 
The thing, she never must obtaine. 

And thus in grieffe she spent the night, 

Till twinkling starres the skye were fled, 
And Phoebus, with his glistering light, 45 

Through misty cloudes appeared red ; 
Then tidings came to her anon. 
That all the Trojan shipps were gone. 

And then the queene with bloody knife 

Did arme, her hart as hard as stone ; 50 

Yet, something loth to loose her life. 
In woefull wise she made her mone ; 
And, rowling on her carefull bed. 
With sighes and sobbs, these words shee sayd : 

" wretched Dido queene I " quoth shee, 55 

" I see thy end approach eth neare ; 
For hee is fled away from thee, 
Whom thou didst love and hold so dearo : 
What, is he gone, and passed by ? 
O bait, prepare thyselfe to dyo. 60 



QUEEN DIDO. 243 

* Though reason says thou shouldst forboare, 

And stay thy hand from bloudy stroke, 
Yet fancy bids thee not to fear. 
Which fetter'd thee in Cupids yoke 
Come death," quoth shoe, " resolve my smart I " — 65 
And with those words she peerced her hart. 

Wben death had pierced the tender hart 

Of Dido, Carthaginian queene, 
Whose bloudy knife did end the smart 

Which shee sustained in mournfull teene, 70 

iBneas being shipt and ^one, 
Whose flattery caused all her mone, 

Her funerall most costly made, 

And all things flnisht mournfullye, 
Her body fine in mold was laid, 75 

Where itt consumed speedilye : 
Her sisters teares her tombe bestrewde, 
Her subjects griefe their kindnesse shewed. 

Then was ^neas in an ile 

In Grecya, where he stayd long space, 80 

Wheras her sister in short while 
Writt to him to his vile disgrace ; 
In speeches bitter to his mind 
Shee told him plaine he was unkind. 

** False-harted wretch," quoth shee, " thoa art ; 85 

And traiterouslye thou hast betraid 
Unto thy lure a gentle haft, 

Which unto thee much welcome made ; 
My sister deare, and Carthage' joy, 
Whose folly bred hei deere annoy, 90 

" Yett on her death-bed when shee lay, 

Shee prayd for thy prosperitye, 
Beseeching God, that every day 
Might breed thy great felicitye : 
Thus by thy meanes I lost a friend ; 95 

Heavens send thee such untimely end." 

B 2 



24-1 QUEBN DIDO. 

When ho these lines, full fraught with gall, 

Poriiscid had, and wayed them right, 
His lofty courage then did fall ; 

And Rtiaight appeared in his sight 100 

Queen Dido*s ghost, both grim and pale ; 
Which made this valliant souldier quaile. 

" iEneas," quoth this ghastly ghost, 

" My whole delight, when I did live, 
Thee of all men I loved most ; 105 

My fancy and my will did give ; 
For entertainment I thee gave, 
LInthankefully thou didst me grave. 

" Therfore prepare thy flitting soule 

To wander with me in the aire, 1 10 

Where deadly e griefe shall make it howle. 
Because of me thou tookst no care : 
Delay not time, thy glasse is run, 
Tliy date is past, thy life is done." 

" O stay a while, thou lovely sprite, 115 

Be not soe hasty to convay 
My soule into etemall night, 

Where itt shall ne're behold bright day : 
O doe not frowne ; thy angry looke 
Hath * all my soule with horror shooke. 120 

" But, woe is me ! all is in vaine. 

And bootless is my dismall crye ; 
Time will not be recalled againe. 

Nor thou surcease before I dye. 

lett me live, and make amends 125 
To some of thy most dearest friends. 

" But seeing thou obdurate art, 

And wilt no pittye on me show. 
Because from thee I did depart. 

And left unpaid what I did owe, 130 

1 must content myselfe to take 
What lott to me thou wilt partake." 

V. 120, MS. Hath made my breath my ii!s tbrsooke. 



THE witches' song. 246 

And thus, as one being in a trance, 

A multitude of uglye feinds 
About this woffiill prince did dance : 135 

He bad no helpe of any friends : 
His body then they tooke away, 
And no man knew his dying day. 



XXIV. 

Fix>m Ben Jonson's Masque of Queens, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 2, 
1609. 

The Editor thought it incumbent on him to insert some old pieces on 
the popular superstition cuncerning witciies, tiobgoblins, fairies, and 
ehosts. The last of these make their appearunce in m«»st of the tragical 
ballads ; and m the following tiongs will be found some description of 
the former. 

It is true, this Song of the Witches, falling from the learned pen of 
Ben Jonson, is ruther an extract from the various incantations of classical 
antiquity, thin a display of the opinions of our own vulgar. But kt 
It be observed, that a parcel of learned wiseacres had just before 
busied themselves on this subject, in compliment to King James I., 
whose weakness on this head is well known : and these had so ransaci^ed 
all writers, ancient and modern, and so blended and kneaded together 
the several superstitions of different times and nations, that those of 
genuine English growth could no longer be traced out and distin- 
guished. 

By good luck, the whimsical belief of fairies and goblins could 
furnish no pretences for tt)rtuiing our fellow-creatures, and therefore 
we have this handed down to us pure and unsophisticated. 

1 WITCH. 

** I HAVE been, all day, looking after 

A raven, feeding upon a quarter ; 

And, soone as she tum'd her beak to the south, 

I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth." 

2 WITCH. 

'^ I have beene gathering wolves baires, ^ 

The madd dogges foames, and adders eares 

The spurging of a deadmans eyes : 

And all since the evening starre did rise." 



246 THB WITCHES* SONG. 

3 WITCH. 

" I, last night, lay all alone 

O' tbo ground to heare the mandrake grone ; 10 

And pluckt him up, though he grew full low : 

And, as 1 had done, the cocke did crow." 

4 WITCH. 

** And I ha' beene chusing out this scull 

From charnell houses that were full ; 

From private grots and publike pits ; 15 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits." 

6 WITCH. 

" Under a cradle I did crepe 

By day ; and, when the childe was a-sleepe 

At night, I suck*d the breath, and rose 

And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose." 20 

6 WITCH. 

" I had a dagger ; what did I with that ? 

Killed an ii]&nt to have his fat. 

A piper it got at a church-ale ; 

I bade him again blow wind i' the taile.'^ 

7 WITCH. 

" A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines ; 25 

The sunne and the wind had shrunke his yeines ; 

I bit oif a sinew ; I clipp'd his haire ; 

1 brought off his ragges that danc'd i' the ayre.'* 

8 WITCH. 

'^ The scrich-owles egges and the feathers blacke. 

The bloud of the frogge, and the bone in his backa . 30 

1 have been getting ; and made of his skin 

A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in." 

9 WITCH. 

" And I ha* beene plucking (plants among) 

Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue, 

Night-shade, moone-wort, libbards-bane ; 35 

And twise by the dogges was like to be tane." 



/ 



BOBIN GOOD 7ELL0W. 247 

10 WITCH. 

* I, from the jawea of a gardiner's bitcli, 

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch ; 

Yet went I back to the house againe, 

Eill'd the blacke cat, and here is the braino." 40 

11 WITOH. 

" I went to the toad breedes under the wall, 

I charmed him out, and he came at my call ; 

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before ; 

I tore the batts wing, — ^what would you have more ? " 

DAMB. 

" Yes, I have brought, to helpe your vows, 45 

Homed poppie, cypresse boughes. 

The fig-tree wild that growes on tombes. 
And juice that from the larch-tree comes. 
The basiliskes bloud, and the vipers skin : — 
And now our orgies let's begin." 50 



XXV. 

3&ohm ^ootr^dfellob. 

Alias Pucke, alias Hobgoblin, in the creed of ancient snperstition, was 
a kind of merry sprite, whose character and achievements are recorded 
in this ballad^ and in those well-known lines of Milton's L* Allegro, 
which the antiquarian Peck supposes to be owing to it : 

" Tells how the drudging Goblm swet 
To earn his creame-bowle duly set : 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morne, 
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd thie corn 
That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
And stretch'd out all the chimneys length, 
Bask at the fire his hairy strength, 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matins rings." 

The reader will observe, that onr simple ancestors had reduced all 
these whimsies to u kind of system, as regular, and perhaps more 



248 BOBIN GOOD-FBLLOW. 

ooDsIstent, than many parts of classic mythology: a proof of the 
extensive influence and vast antiquity of these superstitious. Man- 
kind, and especially the common people, could not everywhere have 
been so unanimously agreed concerning these arbitrary notions, if 
they had not prevailed among them for many ages. Indeed, a learned 
triend in Wales assures the Editor, that the existence of fairies and 
goblins is alluded to by the most ancient British bards, who mention 
them under various names, one of the most common of which 8ignifif;8 
" The spirits of the mountains." See also preface to Song xxv. 

This song, which Peck attributes to Ben Jouson (though it is not 
found among his works), is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter 
copy in the British Museum. It seems to have been originally intend^ 
for some Masque. 

This ballad is entitled, in the old black-letter copies, " The merry 
Pranks of Robin Goodfellow. To the tune of Dulcina" &c. (See No. 
xiv. above.) 

Fbom Oberon, in fairye land, 

The king of ghosts and ehadowes there, 
Mad Eobin I, at his command. 

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. 

What revell rout 5 

Is kept about. 
In every comer where I go, 

I will o'ersee. 

And merry bee, 
And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 10 

More swift than lightening can I flye 

About this aery welkin soone. 
And, in a minutes space, descrye 

Each thing that's done belowe the moone. 

There's not a hag 15 

Or ghost shall wag 
Or cry, " Ware Goblins I" where I go, 

But Eobin I 

Their feates will spy. 
And send them home, with ho, ho, ho I 20 

Whene'er such wanderers I meete. 

As from their night-sports they trudge home. 
With counterfeiting voice I greete 
And call them on with me to roame 

Thro' woods, thro' lakes, 25 

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes ; 



r 



BOBIN GOOD-FELLOW. 249 

Or else, unseene, with them I go, 

All in the nicke 

To play some tricke 
And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho 1 30 

Sometimes I meete them like a man ; 

Sometimes, an ox ; sometimes, a hound I 
^d to a horse I tarn me can, 
To trip and trot about them round. 

But if, to ride, 85 

My backe they stride, 
More swift than wind away I go, 

Ore hedge and lands. 

Thro* pools and ponds 
I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho I 40 

When lads and lasses merry be. 

With possets and with juncates fine, 
Unseene of all the company, 

I eat their cakes and sip their wine ; 

And, to make sport 45 

I fart and snort ; 
And out the candles I do blow ; 

The maids I kiss ; 

They shrieke,— " Who's this ? " 
I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho I 60 

Tet now and then, the maids to please. 
At midnight I card up their wool! ; 
And while they sleepe and take their ease, 
With wheel to threads their flax I pull. 

I grind at mill 55 

Their malt up still ; 
I dress their hemp, I spin their tow. 

If any 'wake. 

And would me take, 
I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho I 60 

When house or harth doth sluttish lye, 

I pinch the maidens black and blue ; 
The bed-clothes from the bedd pull I, 

And lay them naked all to view. 



260 BOBIK GOOD-FELLOW« 

'Twixt sleepe and wake, 65 

I do them take, 
Aiid on the key-cold floor them throw, 

If out they cry, 

llien forth I fly, 
And loadly laugh out, ho, ho, ho t 70 

When any need to borrowe ought. 

We lend them what they do require ; 
And for the use demand we nought ; 
Our owne is all we do desire. 

If to repay 75 

They do delay. 
Abroad amongst them then I go, 

And night by night, 

I them afi&ight 
With pinchings, dreames, and ho, ho, ho I 80 

When lazie queans have nought to do 

But study how to cog and lye ; 
To make debate and mischief too, 
*Twixt one another secretlye, 

I marke their gloze, 85 

And it disclose 
To them whom they have wronged so ; 

When I have done, 

I get me gone. 
And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho 1 90 

When men do traps and engins set 

In loop holes, where the vermine creep, 
Who from their foldes and houses get 

Their duckes and geese, and lambes and sheepe, 
I spy the gin, 95 

And enter in. 
And seeme a vermine taken so ; 
But when they there 
Approach me neare, 
I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho I 10(1 



THB FAIBT QUEEN. 25i 

By wells and rills, in meadowes greene, 

We nightly dance our hey-day guise ^ ; 
And to our fairye king and queene 
We chant our moon-light minstrelsies. 

When larks 'gin sing, 106 

Away we fling ; 
And babes new borne steal as we go, 

And elfe in bed 

We leave instead, 
And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 110 

From hag-bred Merlin's time haye I 
Thus nightly revell'd to and fro ; 
And for my pranks men call me by 
The name of Kobin Good-fellow. 

Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 115 

Who haunt the nightes. 
The hags and goblins do me know ; 

And beldMnes old 

My feates haye told ; 
So Vcde, Vale; ho, ho, ho ! 120 

' This word is perhaps corruptly given ; being apparently the same with 
Hetdbouies, or HEYDEGmVES, which occurs in Spenser, and means a 
** wild frolick dance." — Johnson's I)ictionary. 



XXVI. 

W^t ifair^ ©uent. 

We have here a short display of the popular belief concerning Fairies. 
It will afford entertainment to a contemplative mind to trace these 
whimsical opinions up to their origin. Whoever considers how early, 
how extensively, and how uniformly they have prevailed in these 
nations, will not readily assent to the hypothesis of those who fetch 
them from the East so late as the time of the Croisades. Whereas 
it is well known that our Saxon ancestors, long before they left their 
German forests, believed the existence of a kind of diminutive demons, 
or middle species between men and spirits, whom they called Duergar 
or Dwarfs, and to whom they attributed many wonderful performances, 
far excee«ling human art. Vid. Hervarer Saga Olaj Verelj. 1675. 
Hickes' Thesaur. &c. 



252 THE FAIBY QUEEN. 

This song is g^ven (with some corrections by another copy) from 
a book entitled, ** The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence," &o. Lond. 
1G58, 8vo. 

Come, follow, follow me, 

You, fairy elves that be ; 

Which circle on the greene. 

Come follow Mab, your queene. 
Hand in hand let's dance around, 5 

For this place is fairye ground. 

When mortals are at rest 

And snoring in their nest, 

Unheard and unespy'd. 

Through key-holes we do glide ; 10 

Over tables, stools, and shelves. 
We trip it with our fairy elves. 

And, if the house be foul 

With platter, dish, or bowl, 

Up stairs we nimbly creep, 1£ 

And find the sluts asleep ; 
There we pinch their armes and thighes ; 
None escapes, nor none espies. 

But if the house be swept. 

And from uncleanness kept, 20 

We praise the houshold maid, 

And duely she is paid : 
For wo use before we goe 
To drop a tester in her shoe. 

Upon a mushroomes head 26 

Our table-cloth we spread ; 

A grain of rye, or wheat, 

Is manchet, which we eat ; 
Pearly drops of dew we drink 
In acorn cups fiird to the brink. 30 

The brains of nightingales, 

With unctuous fat of snailes. 

Between two cockles stew*d, 

Is meat that's easily chew'd ; 
Tailes of wormes and marrow of mice 35 

Do make a dish that's wonderous nice. 



THE FAIBIES' FABEWELL. 25S 

The grashopper, gnat, and fly 

Serve for our minstrelsie ; 

Grace said, we dance a while, 

And so the time beguile ; 40 

And if the moon doth hide her head, 
The gloe-worm lights us home to bed. 

On tops of dewie grasse 

So nimbly do we passe 

The young and tender stalk 45 

Ne'er bends when we do walk ; 
Yet in the morning may be seen 
Where we the night before have been. 



xxvn, 

Cl^e JFaititfi' dfarebell. 

This humorous old song fell from the hand of the witty Dr. Corbel 
(afterwards bishop of Norwich, &c.), and is printed from his Poetica 
StroTnata, 1648, 12mo (compared with a third edition of his Poems, 
1672). It is there called, " A proper new Ballad, entitled, The Fairies 
Farewell, or God-a-mercy Will, to be sung or whistled to the tune 
of The Meddow Brow, by the learned ; by the unlearned, to the tune 
of Fortune." 

The departure of Fairies is here attributed to the abolition of 
monkery ; Chaucer has, with equal humour, assigned a cause the very 
reverse, in his Wife of Bath*8 Tale. 

" In olde dayes of the king Artonr, 
Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, 
All was this lond fulfilled of faerie ; 
The elf-quene, with hire joly compagnie 
Danced ful oft in many a grene mede. 
This was the old opinion as I rede ; 
I speke of many hundred yeres ago ; 
But now can no man see non elves mo. 
For now the grete charitee and prayeres 
Of limitoures and other holy freres, 
That serchen every land and every strerae, 
Ab thikke as motes in the sonne heme, 



354 THE fairies' fabewkll. 

Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures, 

Citees and burghes, castles high, and toures, 

Th ropes and bernes, shepenes and dairies, 

This maketh that ther ben no faeries • 

For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 

Ther walketh now the limitour himself, 

In undermeles and in morweninges. 

And sayth his Matines and his holy thinges, 

As he goth in his limitatioun. 

Women may now go safely np and doun. 

In eveiy bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he. 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour." 

Tyrwhitt s Chaucer, i. p. 255. 

Dr. Bichard Corbet, having been bishop of Oxford about threi 
years, and afterwards as long bishop of Norwich, died in 1635, tetat 52. 

Faeewbll rewards and Fairies I 

Good housewives now may say ; 
For now foule sluts in dairies 

Doe fare as well as they ; 
And though they sweepe their hearths no less 5 

Than mayds were wont to doe, 
Yet who of late for cleaneliness 

Finds sixe-pence in her shoe ? 

Lament, lament old Abbies, 

The fairies lost command ; 10 

They did but change priests babies, 

But some have chang'd your land ; 
And all your children stoln from thence 

Are now growne Puritanes, 
Who live as changelings ever since, 15 

For love of your demaines. 

At morning and at evening both 

You merry were and glad. 
So little care of sleepe and sloth 

These prettie ladies had. 20 

When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Ciss to milking rose. 
Then merrily went their tabour, 

And nimbly went their toes. 



THE FAIBIES' FABEWELL. 255 

Witness those rings and ronndelayes 25 

Of theiis, which yet remaine ; 
Were footed in Queen Maries dayes 

On many a grassy playne. 
But since of late Elizabeth 

And later James came in, 30 

They never danc'd on any heath, 

As when the time hath bin. 

By which wee note the fairies 

Were of the old profession ; 
Their songs were Ave Maries, 86 

Their dances were procession. 
But now, alas I they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas, 
Or farther for religion fled. 

Or else they take their ease. iO 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure ; 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth was punish*d sure ; 
It was a just and christian deed 45 

To pinch such blacke and blue : 
O how the common-welth doth need 

Such justices as you I 

Now they have left our quarters ; 

A Eegister they have 50 

Who can preserve their charters ; 

A man both wise and grave. 
An hundred of their merry pranks 

By one that I could name 
Are kept in store ; con twenty thanks 55 

To William for the same. 

To William Chume of Staffordshire 

Give laud and praises due, 
Who every meale can mend your cheare 

With tales both old and true ; 6C 



256 THE FAIBIES' FABEWBLL. 

To William all give aadience, 

And pray yee for his noddle, 
For all the fairies evidence 

Were lost, if it were addle. 

*^* After these Songs on the Fairies, the reader may be curiciu 
to see the nianner in which they were formerly invoked and bound 
to human service In Ashuiole's collection of MSS. at Oxford [num. 
8259. 1400. '2 j, aie the papers of some Alchymist, which contain a variety 
of Incantations and Forms of Conjuring both Fairies, Witches, and 
Demons, primipally, as it should seem, to assist him in his great work 
of transmuting metals. Most of them are too impious to be reprinted : 
but the two following may be very innocently laughed at. 

Whoever looks into Ben Jonson's Alchymist, will find that these 
impostors, among their other secrets, affected to have a power over 
Fairies: and that they were conunonly expected to bo seen in a 
crystal glass, appears from that extraordinary book, " The Belatiou 
of Dr. .John Dee's actions with Spirits, 1659," folio. 

" An excellent way to gett a Faybib. (For myself I call Mabgabett 
Baubance ; but this will obteine ony one that is not allready bownd.) 

** FiBST, gett a broad square christall or Venice glasse, in length and 
breadth 3 inches. Then lay that glasse or christall in the bloud of 
a white henne, 3 Wednesdayes, or 3 Fridayes. Then take it out, and 
wash it with holy aq. and fumigate it. Then take 3 hazle sticks, 
or wands of an yeare groth: pill them fayre and white; and make 
* them * soe longe, as you write the Spibitts name, or Faybies name, 
which you call, 3 times on eveiy sticke being made flatt on one side. 
Then bury them under some hili, whereas you suppose Fay hies haunt, 
the Wednesday before you call her : and the Friday followinge take 
them uppe, and call her at 8 or 3 or 10 of the clocke, which be good 
planetts and houres for that turne : but when you call, be in rleane life, 
and turne thy face towards the east. And when you have her, bind 
her to that stone or glasse." 

" An Unguent to annoynt under the Eyelids, and upon the Eyelids 
eveninge and mominge : but especially when you call ; or find your 
sight not perfect. 

*'R. A pint of sallet oyle, and put it into a viall glasse: but. first 
wash it t^ith rose-water, and mai ygold-water : the flowers *to* be 
gathered towards the east. Wash it till the oyle come white; then 
put it into the glasse, ut supra : and then put thereto the budds of 
holyhofke, the flowers of maiygold, the flowers or toppes of wild Ihime, 
the budds of young hazle: and the thime must be gathered neare the 
si le of a hill where Faykies use to be: and 'take' the grasse of 
a fayrie throne, there. All these put into the oyle, in'o the glasse: 
and set it to disolve 3 dayes in the sunne, and then keep it for tliy 
use ; ut supra." 



/ 



THB TAIBIBS' FABEWELL. 257 

After this receipt for the Unguent follows a form of Incantation, 
wherein the Alchymist conjures a Fairy, named Elaby Gathon, to 
appear to him in that crystal glass, meekly and mildly ; to resolve 
him truly in all manner of questions ; and to be obedient to all his 
commands, under pain of damnation, &c. 

One of the vulgar opinions about Fairies is, that they cannot be 
seen by human eyes, without a particular charm exerted in favour 
of the person who is to see them : and that they strike with blindness 
such as, having the gift of seeing them, take notice of them mal-a-propos. 

As for the hazel sticks mentioned above, they were to be, probably, 
of that species called the Witch Hazel ; which received its name froic 
this manner of applying it in incantatioxiB. 



IHI> 07 THB BIGETH BOOK* 



VOL* IL 



( M8 ) 



BOOK IX, 



CI)( Strtl) of dt. deorge. 

The incidents in this, and the other ballad ofSt. Cfeorge and the Ih agtm, 
are chiefly taken from the old story-book of the Seven Champions of 
Christendome ; which, though now the plaything of children, was 
once in high repute. Bishop Hall, in his Satires, published in 1597, 
ranks 

" St. Greorge's sorell, and his cross of blood," 

among the most popular stories of his time : and an ingenious critic 
thinks that Spenser himself did not disdain to borrow hints from it*: 
though I much doubt whether this popular romance were written 
so early as the Faerie Queen. 

The author of this book of the Seven Champions was one Richard 
Johnson, who lived in the reigns of Elizabeth and James, as we collect 
from his other publications; viz. — "The nine worthies of London: 
1592," 4to.— "The pleasant walks of Moor fields: 1607," 4to.— "A 
crown garland of Goulden Roses, gathered, &c. 1612," 8vo. — " The life 
and death of Rob. Cecill, E. of Salisbury, 1612," 4to.— " The Hist, of 
Tom of Lincoln," 4to, is also by R. J., who likewise reprinted " Don 
Flores of Greece," 4to. 

The Seven Champions, though written in a wild inflated style, 
contains some strong Gothic painting ; which seems for the most part 
copied from the metrical romances of former ages. At least the story 
of St. George and the fair Sabra is taken almost verbatim from the 
oldpoetical legend of " Syr Bevis of Hampton." 

This very antique poem was in great fame in Chaucer's time [see 
above, page 144], and so continued till the introduction of printing, 
when it ran through several editions : two of which are in black-letter, 
4 to, " imprinted by Wyllyam Copland," without date ; containing great 
variations. 

As a specimen of the poetic powers of this very old rhymist, and 
as a proof how closely the author of the Seven Champions has followed 
him, take a description of the dragon slain by Sir Bevis. 

* Mr, Warton. Vide Observations on the Faerie Queen, 2 vols. 1762, 
12]iiOy pasbim. 



TBE BIRTH OF ST. OEOBGE. 259 

** W han the dragon, that foule isy 
Had a syght of syr Bevis, 
He cast up a loude cry, 
As it had thondred in the sky ; 
He turned his bely towarde the son ; 
It was greater than any tonne : 
His scales was bryghter then the glas, 
And harder they were than any bras : 
Betwene his shulder and his tayle, 
Was forty fote withoute fayle. 
He waltred out of his denne, 
And Bevis pricked his stede then, 
And to him a spere he thraste 
That all to shy vers he it braste : 
The dragon then gan Bevis assayle, 
And smote syr Bevis with his tayle : 
Then downe went horse and man, 
And two rybbes of Bevis brused than. " 

After a long fight, at length, as the dragon was preparing io fly. 
Sir Bevis 

** Hit him under the wynge, 
As he was in his flyenge. 
There he was tender without scale, 
And Bevis thought to be his bale. 
He smote after, as I you saye, 
With his good sword Morglaye. 
Up to the hiltes Morglay yode 
Through harte, lyver, bone, and blonde : 
To the ground fell the dragon. 
Great joye syr. Bevis begon. 
Under the scales al on hight 
He smote off his head forth right, 
And put it on a spere :" &c. Sign. K. iv. 

Sir Bevifl's dragon is evidently the parent of that in the Seven 
Champions, see chapter ill. viz., ^^ The dragon no sooner had a sight 
of him [St. George] but he gave such a terrible peal, as though it had 
thundered in the elements. . . . Betwixt his shoulders and his tail 
were fifty feet in distance, his scales glistering as bright as silver, but 
far more hard than brass ; his belly of the colour of gold, but biggtn* 
than a tun. Thus weltered he from his den, &c. . . . The champi(jij 
. . . gave the dragon such a thrust with his spear, that it shiverel 
in a thousand pieces: whereat the furious dragon so fiercely smote 
him with his venomcT>« tail, that down fell man and horse : in which 

fall two of St. George's ribs were so bruised, &o. At length . . . 

St. George smote the dragon under the wing where it was tender 
without scale, whereby his good sword Ascalon with an easie passago 
went to the very hilt through both the dragon's heart, liver, bom}, 

8 2 



260 THE BIBTH OF ST. GEOBGK. 

and blood. — Then St. George cut off the dragon's head, and pitcht it 
upon the truncheon of a spear, &o** 

The History of the Seven Champions, being written just before tho 
decline of books of chivalry, was never, I believe, translated into any 
foreign language : but " Le Roman de Beuves of Hantonne " was 
published at Paris in 1502, 4to, Let. Gothique. 

'J'he learned Selden tells us, that about the time of the Norman 
invasion was Bevis famous with the title of Earl of Southampton, 
whose residence wus at Duncton in Wiltshire; but he observes, that 
the monkish enlargements of his story have made his very ejd»tence 
doubted. See notes on Poly-Olbion, song iii. 

This hath also been the case of St. George himself; whose martial 
history is allowed to be apocryphal. But to prove that there really 
existed on orthodox Saint of this name (although little or nothing, 
it seems, is known of his genuine story), is the subject of " An Historical 
and Critical Inquiry into the Existence and Character of Saint Greorge, 
&c. By tlie Rev. J. Milner, F.8.A., 1792, 8vo." 

The equestrian figure worn by the Knio:hts of the Garter, has been 
understood to be an emblem of the Christian warrior, in his spiritual 
armour, vanquishing the old serpent. 

But on this subject the inquisitive reader may consult " A Disser- 
tation on the Original of the Equestrian Figure of the George and of 
the Garter, ensigns of the most noble order of that name. Illustrated 
with copper-plates. By John Pettingal, A.M., Fellow of the Society 
of Antiquaries, Lcmdon, 1768," 4to. This Lamed and curious work 
tlie author of the Historical and Critical Inquiry would have done well 
to have seen. 

It cannot be denied, but that the following bnllsid is for the most 
part modem : for which reason it would have been thrown to the end 
of the volimie, had not its subject procured it a place here. 

Listen, lords, in bower and hall, 

I sing the wonderons birth 
Of brave St. George, whose valorous arm 

Bid monsters from the earth ; 

Distressed ladies to relieve 5 

He travell'd many a day ; 
In honour of the Christian faith, 

Which shall endure for aye. 

In Coventry sometime did dwell 

A knight of worthy fame, 10 

High steward of this noble realme ; 

Lord Albret was his name. 



THE BIBTH OF 8T. GfiOECS. 261 

He had to wife a princely dame, 

Whose beauty did excell. 
This virtuous lady, being with child, 15 

In sudden sadness felL 

For thirty nights no sooner sleep 

Had clos'd her wakeful eyes. 
But, lo I a foul and fearful dream 

Her fancy would surprize. 20 

She dreamt a dragon fierce and fell 

ConceiVd within her womb ; 
Whose mortal fangs her body rent 

Ere he to life could come. 

All woe-begone and sad was she ; 25 

She nourisht constant woe ; 
Yet strove to hide it from her lord. 

Lest he should sorrow know. 

In vaine she strove ; her tender lord, 

Who watch'd her slightest look, 80 

Discovered soon her secret pain, 

And soon that pain partook. 

And when to him the fearful cause 

She weeping did impart, 
With kindest speech he strove to heal 35 

The anguish of her heart. 

" Be comforted, my lady dear ; 

Those pearly drops refrain ; 
Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

ril try to ease thy pain. 40 

** And for this foul and fearful dream 

That causeth all thy woe. 
Trust me Til travel far away. 

But I'll the meaning knowe." 

Then giving many a fond embrace^ 45 

And shedding many a teare, 
To the weird lady of the woods 

He purpos'd to repaire. 



262 THX BIBTH O.^ ST. 6S0B6B. 

To the weird lady of the woods, 

Full long and many a day, 60 

Thro' lonely shades and thickets rough 

He winds his weary way. 

At length he reach'd a dreary dell 

With dismal yews o'erhung ; 
Where cypress spred its mournful boughs, 55 

And pois'nous nightshade sprung. 

No chearful gleams here pierc'd the gloom, 

He hears no chearful sound ; 
But shrill night-ravens* yelling scream, 

And serpents hissing round. 6C 

The shriek of fiends and damned ghosts 

Ran howling thro' his ear ; 
A chilling horror froze his heart, 

Tho' all unus'd to fear. 

Three times he strives to win his way, 65 

And pierce those sickly dews ; 
Three times to bear his trembling corse 

His knocking knees refuse. 

At length upon his beating breast 

. He signs the holy crosse ; 70 

And, rouzing up his wonted might, 
He treads th' unhallow'd mosse. 

Beneath a pendant craggy clifi^ 

All vaulted like a grave, 
And opening in the solid rock, 75 

He found the inchanted cave. 

An iron gate clos'd up the mouth, 

All hideous and forlorne ; 
And, fasten'd by a silver chain, 

Near hung a brazed home. 8C 

Then offering up a secret prayer. 

Three times he blowes amaine ; 
Three times a deepe and hollow sound 

Did answer him againe. 



THE BIRTH OF ST. OEOBOE. 263 

** Sir Knight, thy lady beai-es a son, 86 

Who, like a dragon bright. 
Shall prove most dreadful to his foes, 

And terrible in fight. 

" His name advanced in future times • 

On banners shall be worn ; 90 

But lo ! thy lady's life must passe 
Before he can be bom." 

All sore opprest with fear and doubt 

Long time Lord Albret stood ; 
At length he winds his doubtful way 96 

Back thro' the dreary wood. 

Eager to clasp his lovely damo 

Then fast he travels back ; 
But when he reach'd his castle gate. 

His gate was hung with black. 100 

In every court and hall he found 

A sullen silence reigne ; 
Save where, amid the lonely towers, 

He heard her maidens 'plaine. 

And bitterly lament and weep, 106 

With many a grievous grone ; 
Then sore his bleeding heart misgave, 

His lady's life was gone. 

With feultering step he enters in, 

Yet half affraid to goe ; 110 

With trembling voice asks why they grieve, 

Yet fears the cause to knowe. 

*' Three times the sim hath rose and set ;" 

They said, then stopt to weep, 
■• Since heaven hath laid thy lady deare 116 

Li death's eternal sleep. 

* For, ah 1 in travel sore she fell, 

So sore that she must dye ; 
Unless some shrewd and cunning leech 

Could ease her presentljre. 120 



S64 THB BIBTH OF BT. GEOBOS. 

** But when a cunning leech was fet, 

Too soon declared he, 
She, or her babe must lose its life ; 

Both sayed could not be. 

• " Now take my life, thy lady said, 125 

My little infant save ; 
And commend me to my lord. 
When I am laid in grave. 

^ O tell him how that precious babe 

Cost him a tender ^nfe ; 130 

And teach my son to lisp hername 

Who died to save his life. 

^< Then calling still upon thy name, 

And praying still for thee ; 
Without repining or complaint, 135 

Her gentle soul did flee." 

What tongue can paint Lord Albret's woe. 

The bitter tears he shed. 
The bitter pangs that wrung his heart, 

To find his lady dead? 140 

He beat his breast ; he tore his hair ; 

And shedding many a tear. 
At length he ai^ to see his son, 

The son that cost so dear. 

New sorrowe seiz'd the damsells all ; 145 

At length they feultering say : 
" Alas I my lor^ how shall we tell ? 

Thy son is stoln away. 

'< Fair as the sweetest flower of spring, 

Such was his infetnt mien ; 150 

And on his little body stampt 

Three wonderous marks were seen : 

** A blood-red cross was on his arm ; 

A dragon on his breast ; 
A litde garter all of gold 156 

Was round his leg exprest. 



THB BIRTE OF ST. GSOBGB. 265 

** Three carefall nurses we provide 

Out little lord to keep : 
One gave him sucke, one gaye him food. 

And one did lull to sleep. 160 

*< Bnt lo I all in the dead of night 

We heard a fearful somid : 
Lond thmider clapt ; the castle shook ; 

And lightning flasht around. 

« Dead with aflEright at first we lay ; 165 

But rousing up anon. 
We ran to see our little lord, — 

Our little lord was gone I 

** But how or where we could not tell ; 

For lying on the groimd, 17C 

In deep and magic slumbers laid. 

The nurses there we found." 

" O grief on grief I '* Lord Albret said ; 

No more his tongue cou'd say, 
When falling in a deadly swoone, 175 

Long time he lifeless lay. 

At length restor'd to life and sense 

He nourisht endless woe, 
No future joy his heart could taste, 

No future comfort know. 180 

So withers on the mountain top 

A fair and stately oake, 
Whose vigorous arms are tome away 

By some rude thunder-stroke. 

At length his castle irksome grew, 185 

He loathes his wonted home ; 
His native country he forsakes, 

Li foreign lands to roame. 

There up and downe he wandered far. 

Clad in a palmer's gown ; 19C 

Till his brown locks grew white as wool, 

His beard as thistle down. 



266 8T. OSOBOE AND THE DBAGOIT. 

At length, all wearied, down in death 

He laid his reverend head. 
Meantime amid the lonely wilds 195 

His little son was bred. 

There the weird lady of the woods 

Had borne him far away, 
And train'd him up in feates of armes, 

And eyery martial play. 200 

* * 

* 



n. 

&t fieorge antr (^t Sragon* 

The following ballad ia given (with some correctionB) from two ancient 
black-letter copies in the Pepys Collection ; one of which is in 12mo, 
the other in folio. 

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing, 

And of the sack of stately Troy, 
What griefs fair Helena did bring. 

Which was Sir Paris' only joy : 
And by my pen I will recite 5 

St. George's deeds, an English knight. 

Against the Sarazens so rude 

Fought he full long and many a day. 

Where many gyants he subdu'd, 

In honour of the Christian way ; 10 

And after many adventures past, 

To Egypt land he came at last. 

Now, as the story plain doth tell, 
Within that countrey there did rest 

A dreadful dragon fierce and fell, 15 

Whereby they were full sore opprest : 

Who by his poisonous breath each day 

Did many of the city slay. 



ST. GEOBGB AND THE DBAGOIT. 267 

The grief whereof did grow so great 

Throughout the limits of the land, 20 

That they their wise-men did intreat 

To shew their cunning out of hand ; 
What way they might this fiend destroy, 
That did the countrey thus annoy. 

The wise-men all before the king, 25 

This answer fram'd incontinent : 
The dragon none to death might bring 

By any means they could invent ; 
His skin more hard than brass was found, 
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound. 30 

When this the people understood, 

They cryed out most piteouslye. 
The dragon's breath infects their blood, 

That every day in heaps they dye ; 
Among them such a plague it bred, 85 

The living scarce could bury the dead. 

No means there were, as they could hear, 

For to appease the di*agon's rage, 
But to present some virgin clear, 

Whose blood his fury might asswage ; 40 

Each day he would a maiden eat, 
For to allay his hunger great. 

This thing by art the wise-men found, 

Which truly must observed be ; 
Wherefore, throughout the city round, 45 

A virgin pure of good degree 
Was, by the king's commission, still 
Taken up to serve the dragon's will. 

Thus did the dragon every day 

Untimely crop some virgin flowr, 50 

Till all the maids were worn away, 

And none were left him to devour ; 
Saving the king's fair daughter bright, 
Her father's only heart's delight. 



268 8T. GEOBGB AND THE DRAGON. 

Then came the officers to the king, 55 

That heavy message to declare, 
YHiich did his heart with sorrow sting ; 

" She is," quoth he, " my kingdom's heir : 
O let ns all be poisoned here, 
Ere she should die, that is my dear.*' 60 

Then rose the people presently, 
And to the long in rage they went ; 

They said his daughter dear diould dye, 
The dragon's fury to prevent : 

" Our daughters all are dead," quoth they, 65 

*^ And have been made the dragon's prey ; 

" And by their blood we rescued were, 
And iiiou hast sav'd thy life thereby ; 

And now in sooth it is but faire, 

For us thy daughter so should die." 70 

•* O save my daughter," said the king, 

•* And let mb feel the dragon's sting." 

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee. 

And to her father dear did say, 
" O father, strive not thus for me, 76 

But let me be the dragon's prey ; 
It may be, for my sake alone 
This plague upon the land was thrown. 

" Tis better I should dye," she said, 

" Than all your subjects perish quite ; 80 

Perhaps the dragon here was laid, 

For my offence to work his spite. 
And after he hath suckt my gore. 
Your land shall feel the grief no more." 

" What hast thou done, my daughter dear, 85 

For to deserve this heavy scourge ? 

It is my fault, as may appear. 

Which makes the gods our state to purge ; 

Then ought I die, to stint the strife. 

And to preserve tiiy happy life." 90 



ST. 6X0B0E AND THE DBAGON. 269 

Like mad-men, all the people cried, 

" Thy death to us can do no good ; 
Our safety only doth abide 

In making her the dragon's food." 
" Lo ! here I am, I come," quoth she, 95 

" Therefore do what you will with me." 

Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen, 

'* And as thou art a -virgin bright, 
That hast for yertue famous been, 

So let me cloath thee all in white ; 100 

And crown thy head with flowers sweet, 
An OTnament for virgins meet." 

And when she was attired so, 

According to her mother's mind, 
Unto the stake then did she go, 105 

To which her tender limbs they bind ; 
And being bound to stake a thrall. 
She bade farewell unto them alL 

" Farewell, my father dear," quoth she, 

" And my sweet mother meek and mild ; 110 

Take you no thought nor weep for me, 
For you may have another child ; 

Since for my country's good I dye. 

Death I receive most willinglye." 

The king and queen and all their train 115 

With weeping eyes wont then their way. 

And let their daughter there remain, 
To be the hungry dragon's prey : 

But as she did there weeping lye, 

Behold St. George came riding by. 120 

And seeing there a lady bright 

So rudely tyed unto a stake. 
As well became a valiant knight, 

He straight to her his way did take : 
'* Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he, 125 

*" What caitif thus abuseth thee ? 



270 BT. GEOEGE AND THE DBAGON. 

** And, lo ! by Christ his cross I vow, 
Which here is figured on my breast, 

I will revenge it on his brow. 

And break my lance upon his. chest : " 130 

And speaking thus whereas he stood. 

The dragon issued from the wood. 

The lady, that did first espy 

The drBadful dragon coming so, 
Unto St. Greorge aloud did cry, 135 

And willed him away to go ; 
^ Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she, 
" That soon will make an end of me." 

St. George then looking round about, 

The fiery dragon soon espy'd, 140 

And like a knight of courage stout. 
Against him did most furiously ride ; . 

And with such blows he did him greet. 

He fell beneath his horse's feet. 

For with his launce that was so strong, 145 

As he came gaping in his face, 
In at his mouth he thrust along ; 

For he could pierce no other place : 
And thus within the lady's view 
This mighty dragon straight he slew. 150 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
Could do this holy knight no harm ; 

Thus he the lady sav'd from death. 
And home he led her by the arm ; 

Which when King Ptolemy did see, 155 

There was great mirth and melody. 

When as that valiant champion thero 

Had slain the dragon in the field. 
To court he brought the lady fair. 

Which to their hearts much joy did yield, 160 
He in the court of Egypt staid 
Till he most Maelj was betray'd. 



ST. 6E0BGB AND THB DBAOOK, 271 

That lady dearly loVd the knight, 

He counted her his only joy ; 
Bnt when their love was brought to light, 165 

It turn'd unto their great annoy : 
Th* Morocco king was in the court, 
Who to the orchard did resort, 

l^ftyly* to take the pleasant air ; 

For pleasure sake he us*d to walk ; 170 

Under a wall he oft did hear 

St. Greorge with Lady Sabra talk ; 
Their love he shew*d unto the king, 
Which to St. George great woe did bring. 

Those kings together did devise 176 

To make the Christian knight away : 

With letters him in curteous wise 
They straightway sent to Persia, 

But wrote to the sophy him to kill. 

And treacherously his blood to spill. 180 

Thus they for good did him reward 

With evil, and most subtiUy, 
By such vile meanes they had regard 

To work his death most cruelly ; 
Who, as through Persia land he rode, 186 

With zeal destroyed each idol god. 

For which offence he straight was thrown 

Into a dungeon dark and deep ; 
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon. 

He bitterly did waU and weep : 190 

Yet like a knight of courage stout. 
At length his way he digged out. 

Three grooms of the King of Persia 
By night this valiant champion slew. 

Though he had fasted many a day, 195 

And then away from thence he flew 

On the best steed the sophy had ; 

Which when he knew ho was full mad. 



272 IT. GBOEOS AMD THE DBA009. 

Towards Christendom he made his flight. 

But met a gyant by the way, 200 

With whom in combat he did fight 
Most valiantly a summer's day : 

Who yet, for all his bats of steel. 

Was forc'd the sting of death to feel. 

Back o'er the seas with many bands 205 

Of warlike souldiers soon he past, 
Vowing upon those heathen lands 

To work revenge ; which at the last, 
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent. 
He wrought unto his heart's content 210 

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd. 

For Sabra bright her only sake, 
And, ere for her he had regard. 

He meant a tryal kind to mi^e : 
Mean while the king, o'ercome in field, 215 

Unto Saint Greorge did quickly yield. 

Then straight Morocco's king he slew. 

And took fair Sabra to his wife. 
But meant to try if she were true. 

Ere with her he would lead his life ; 220 

And, tho' he had her in his train, 
She did a virgin pure remain. 

Toward England then that lovely dame 
The brave St. George conducted strait, 

An eunuch also with them came, 225 

Who did upon the lady wait. 

These three from Egypt went alone : 

Now mark St. Greorge's valour shown. 

When as they in a forest were. 

The lady did desire to rest : 230 

Mean while St. George to kill a deer 

For their repast did think it best : 
Leaving her with the eunuch there. 
Whilst he did go to kill the deer. 



8T. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON, 278 

But lo I all in his absence came 235 

Two hungry lyons, fierce and fell, 
And tore the eunuch on the same 

In pieces small, the truth to tell ; 
Down by the lady then they laid, 
Whereby they shew*d she was a maid, 240 

But when he came from hunting back, 

And did behold this heavy chance. 
Then for his lovely virgin's sake 

His courage strait he did advance, 
And came into the lions sight, 245 

Who ran at him with all their might. 

Their rage did him no whit dismay, 
Who, like a stout and valiant knight, 

Did both the hungry lyons slay 

Within the Lady Sabra's sight : 250 

Who all this while, sad and demure, 

There stood most like a virgin pure. 

Now when St. George did surely know 

This lady was a virgin true. 
His heart was glad, that erst was woe, 255 

And all his love did soon renew : 
He set her on a palfrey steed. 
And towards England came with speed. 

Where being in short space arriv'd 

Unto his native dwelling place, 260 

Therein with his dear love he liv'd, 

And fortune did his nuptials gr^u^o ; 
They many years of joy did see, 
And led their lives at Ooventry, 



▼OL. n. 



274 LOVK WILL FIND OUT THE WAT. 

m. 

lobe bOl Sntr out ti^t Wap. 

This excellent 3ong is ancient: but we could only (,ive it &om a 
modem copy. 

OvEB the mountains, 

And over the wayes ; 
Under the fountains, 

And under the graves ; 
Under floods that are deepest ; 5 

Which Neptune obey; 
Over rocks that ore steepest, 

Love will And out the way. 

Where there is no place 

For the glow-worm to lye, 10 

Where there is no space 

For receipt of a fly ; 
Where the midge dares not venture, 

Lest herself fast she lay ; 
If love come, he will enter, 15 

And soon find out his way. 

You may esteem him 

A child for his might ; 
Or you may deem him 

A coward from his flight ; 20 

But if she, whom love doth honour, 

Be conceal'd from the day. 
Set a thousand guards upon her, 

Love will find out the way. 

Some think to lose him, 25 

By having him confin'd ; 
And some do suppose him, 

Poor thing, to be blind ; 
But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 

Do the best that you may, SO 

Blind love, if so ye call him. 

Will find out his way. 



U>BD THOMAS AND FAIB AMNBT. 275 

Yon may train the eagle 

To stoop to your fist ; 
Or you may inveigle 35 

The phenix of the east ; 
The lioness, ye may move her 

To give o'er her prey ; 
But youTl ne'er stop a lover : 

He will fimd out his way. 40 

♦ * 

« 



IV. 

Eortr Cj^omas; antr fair 9nnet, 

A SCOTTISH BALLAD, 

Beema to be composed (not without improvements) out of two ancient 
English ones, printed in this volume. See book vii., ballad xv. ; 
and book viii., ballad iv. If this had been the original, the authors of 
those two ballads would hardly have adopted two such different; 
Atories : besides, this contains enlargements not to be found in either 
of the others. It is given, with some corrections, from a MS. copy 
transmitted from Scotland. 

Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sate a' day on a hill ; 
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, 

They had not talkt their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 5 

Fair Annet took it ill : 
** A' ! I will nevir wed a wife 

Against my ain friends will." 

" Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 

A wife wull neir wed yee :" 10 

Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 

And knelt upon his knee : 

" rede, rede, mither," he says, 

" A gude rede gie to mee : 
O sail I tak the nut-browne bride, 15 

And let fedre Annet bee ? " 

T 2 



27B LOBD THOMAS AND FAIB ANNET. 

•* The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, 

Fair Annet she has gat nane ; 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 

O it wull soon be gane." 20 

And he has till his brother gane : 

" Now, brother, rede ye mee ; 
A', sail I marrie the nut-browne bride. 

And let fair Annet bee ? " 

•* The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 25 

The nut-browne bride has kye : 
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 

And cast fair Annet bye." 

" Her oxen may dye i' the house, BiUie, 

And her kye into the byre, 30 

And I sail hae nothing to my-sell, 
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre." 

And he has till his sister gane : 

" Now, sister, rede ye mee ; 
O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride, 35 

And set fair Annet free ? " 

" Ise rede ye take fair Annet, Thomas, 

And let the browne bride alane ; 
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alaoe, 

What is this we brought hame I " 40 

" No, I will tak my mithers counsel, 

And marrie me owt o' hand ; 
And I will tak the nut-browne bride ; 

Fair Annet may leive the land." 

Up then rose fair Annets father, 45 

Twa hours or it wer day. 
And he is gane into the bower. 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

" Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he sayg, 

" Put on your silken sheene ; 50 

Let us gae to St. Maries kirke. 
And see that rich weddeen." 



LOBD THOMAS AND FAIB ANNBT. 277 

*• My maidos, gae to my dressing-roome, 

And dress to me my hair ; 
Whaij>eir yee laid a plait before, 55 

See yee lay ten times mair. 

•* My maids, gae to my dressing-room, 

And dress to me my smock ; 
The one half is o' the holland fiLe, 

The other o' needle-work." 60 

The horse fair Annet rade upon, 

He amblit like the wind ; 
Wr siller he was shod before, 

Wi' burning gowd behind. 

Four and twanty siller bells 65 

Wer a* tyed till his mane. 
And yae tift o* the norland wind. 

They tinkled ane by ane. 

Four and twanty gay gude knichts 

Bade by fair" Annets side, 70 

And four and twanty fair ladies. 

As gin she had bin a bride. 

And whan she cam to Maries kirk, 

She sat on Maries stean : 
The cleading that fair Annet had on 75 

It skinkled in their een. 

And whan she cam into the kirk. 

She shimmer'd like the sun ; 
The belt that was about her waist. 

Was a' wi' pearles bedone. 8D 

She sat her by the nut-browne bride. 

And her een they wer sae clear,. 
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, 

When fair Annet she drew near. 

He had a rose^into his hand, 86 

And he gave it kisses three, 
And reaching by the nut-browne brido, 

Laid it on fair Annets knee. 



278 LOBD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 

Up than spak the nut-browne bride, 

She spak wi' meikle spite ; 90 

** And whair gat ye that rose-water, 

That does mak yee sae white ? " 

•* O I did get the rose-water 

Whair ye wnll neir get nane, 
For I did get that very rose-water 95 

Into my mithers wame " 

The bride she drew a long bodkin 

Frae out her gay head-gear, 
And strake fair Annet unto the heart, 

That word she nevir spak mair. 100 

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wex pale, 

And marvelit what mote bee : 
But whan he saw her dear hearts blude, 

A' wood-^vroth wexed hee. 

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, 105 

That was sae sharp and meet. 
And draye it into the nut-browne bride, 

That fell deid at his foit. 

" Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed, 

" Now stay, my dear," he cr/d ; 110 

Then strake the dagger untiU his heart. 
And feU deid by her side. 

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa'. 

Fair Annet within the quiere ; 
And o' the tane thair grew a biik, 115 

The other a bonny briere. 

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, 

As tiiey wad faine be neare ; 
And by this ye may ken right weil, 

They were twa luvers deare. 120 



GEOBGE BABNWSLL. 279 



SSnfatftng Siaut^. 

This little beautiM sonnet is reprinted from a small volume of " Poemv 
by Thomas Oarew, Esq., one of the gentlemen of the pivie-chamber, 
and sewer in ordinary to his majesty. (Charles I.) Lend. 1640." This 
elegant and almost-forgotten writer, whose poems have been deserredly 
revived, died, in the prime of his age, in 1639. 

In the original follows a third stanza ; which, not being of general 
application, nor of equal merit, I have ventured to omit. ^ 

Hee, that loves a rosie cheeke, 

Or a corall lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seeke 

Fuell to maintaiiie his fibres, 
As old time makes these decay, 5 

So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts and calme desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined, 

Kindle never-dying fires, 10 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheekes, or lips, or eyes. 



VI. 

&totgt Sarnbin. 

The subject of this ballad is sufiSciently popular from the modem play 
which is founded upon it. This was written by George Lilio, a 
jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730. As for the ballad, it 
was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century. 

It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange 
intermixture of Roman and black-letter. It is also collated with another 
copy in the Ashmole Collection at Oxford, which is thus entitled, ^' An 
excellent ballad of George Barnwell, an apprentice of London, who 
. . . thrice robbed his master and murdered his vncle in Ludlow " The 
time is llie Merchant 



280 OEOBGE BABKWELL. 

This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact ; but when it hap* 
pened; I have not been able to discover. 

THE FIBST PART 

All youths of fair England 

That dwell both far and near, 
Begard my story that I tell, 

And to my song give ear. 

A London lad I was, 5 

A merchant's prentice bonnd ; 
My name George Barnwell ; that did spend 

My master many a pound. 

Take heed of harlots then, 

And their enticing trains ; 10 

For by that means I have been brought 

To hang aliye in chains. 

As I upon a day, 

Was walking through the street, 
About my master's business, 15 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame 

And sumptuous in attire ; 
With smiling look she greeted me, 

And did my name require. 20 

Which when I had declar'd. 

She gave me then a kiss. 
And said, if I would come to her, 

I should have more than this. 

" Fair mistress," then quoth I, 25 

" If I the place may Know, 
This evening I will be with you ; 

For I abroad must go, 

" To gather monies in. 

That are ray master's due : SO 

And ere that I do home return 

m come and visit you." 



OEOBGE BARKWm^L 281 

" Good Barnwell," then quoth she, 

" Do thou to Shoreditch come, 
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 35 

Next door unto the Gun. 

" And trust me on my truth. 

If thou keep touch with me. 
My dearest friend, as my own heart 

Thou shalt right welcome be." 40 

Thus parted we in peace. 

And home I passed right ; 
Then went abroad, and gathered in. 

By six o'clock at night. 

An hundred pound and one : 45 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house. 

And thought on little harm. 

And knocking at the door. 

Straightway herself came down ; 60 

Bustling in most brave attire, 

With hood and silken gown. 

Who, through her beauty bright. 

So gloriously did shine. 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 

She seemed so divine. 

She took me by the hand. 

And with a modest grace, 
" Welcome, sweet Barnwell," then quoth she, 

'* Unto this homely place. 60 

" And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be, 
A homely supper, ere we part, 

Thou shalt take here with me." 

" pardon me," quoth I, 65 

" Fair mistress, I you pray ; 
For why, out of my master's house 

So long I dare not stay." 



282 GEORGE BABNWELL. 

" Alas, good sir/* she said, 

" Are you so strictly t/d, 70 

You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour op two abide ? 

'' Faith, then the case is hard ; 

If it be so," quoth she, 
" I would I were a prentice bound, 75 

To live along with thee. 

" Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say. 
And do not blame a woman much. 

Her fSeuacy to bewray. 80 

" Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it not immodesty, 

I should thy love require.'* 

With that she tum'd aside, 86 

And with a blushing red, 
A mournful motion she bewray'd 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkerchief she had. 

All wrought with silk and gold, 90 

Which she to stay her trickling tears, 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 

Was wondrous rare and strange. 
And in my soul and inward thought 95 

It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew 

To take her by the hand. 
Saying, " Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? " 100 

" Call me no mistress now, 

But Sarah, thy true friend, 
Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee. 

Until her life hath end. 



. . / 



6E0B0E BABNWELL. 288 

** If thou wouldst here alledge 106 

Thou art in years a boy ; 
So was Adonis, yet was he 

Fair Venus' only joy." 
Thus I, who ne'er before 

Of woman found such grace, 110 

But seeing now so fair a dame 

Give me a kind embrace, 
I supt with her that night. 

With joys that did aboimd ; 
And for the same paid presently, 116 

In money twice three pound. 
An hundred kisses then. 

For my farewel she gave ; 
Crying, " Sweet Barnwell, when shall I 

Again thy company have ? 120 

" Oh stay not hence too long ; 

Sweet George, have me in mind : " 
Her words bewicht my childishness, 

She uttered them so kind. 
So that I made a vow, 126 

Next Sunday, without fail. 
With my sweet Sarah once again 

To tell some pleasant tale. 
When she heard me say so. 

The tears fell from her eye ; 130 

" Gleorge," quoth she, " if thou dost fail, 

Thy Swrah sure will dye." 
Though long, yet loe I at last. 

The appointed day was come, 
That I must with my Sarah meet ; 136 

Having a mighty sum 
Of money in my hand,^ 

Unto her house went I, 
Whereas my love upon her bed 

In saddest sort did lye. 140 

> The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c., shows this 
narrative to have been penned before the civil wars : the strict observance 
of the Sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period. 



284 GBOBGB BABNWELL. 

** What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? " quoth I ; 
** Let not my love lament and griovo, 

Nor sighing pine and die. 

" But tell me, dearest friend, 1 i5 

What may thy woes amend, 
And thou shalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend." 

With that she tum'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say : 150 

** Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great, 

Ten pound I have to pay 

Unto a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows," quoth she, 
« I have it not." « Tush, rise," I said, 155 

" And take it here of me. 

" Ten pounds, nor ten times ten. 

Shall make my love decay ; " 
Then from my bag into her lap, 

I cast ten pound straightway. 160 

All blithe and pleasant then. 

To banqueting we go ; 
She proffered me to lye with her. 

And said it should be so. 

And after that saiae time, 165 

I gave her store of coyn, 
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once ; 

All which I did purloyn. 

And thus I did pass on ; 

Until my master then 170 

Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 

The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say : 
For well I knew that I was out 175 

Two hundred pound that day. 



6E0B6E BAILS WELlu 285 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort ; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 180 

But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe, 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The SECOND PABT may showe. 

THE SECOND PART. 
•* Young Barnwell comes to thee, 

Sweet Sarah, my delight ; 
I am undone, unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night, 

'' Our master to accompts 5 

Hath just occasion found ; 
And I am caught behind the hand 

Above two himdred pound. 

" And now his wrath to 'scape, 

My love, I fly to thee, 10 

Hoping some time 1 may remains 

In safety here with thee." 

With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, '' What should I have to dc 15 

With any prentice boy ? 

" And seeing you have purloyn'd 

Your master's goods away. 
The case is bad, and therefore here 

You shall no longer stay." 20 

« Why, dear, thou know'st," I gaid, 

" How all which I could get, 
I gave it, and did spend it all 

Upon thee every whit." 

Quoth she, "Thou art a knave, 25 

To charge me in this sort. 
Being a woman of credit fair. 

And known of good report. 



286 GEORGE BABNWELL. 

« Therefore I tell thoe flat, 

Be packing with good speed ; 30 

I do defle thee from my heart, 

And scorn thy filthy deed." 

*' Is this the friendship, that 

Ton did to me protest ? 
Is this the great aSOfection, which * 85 

You so to me exprest ? 

** Now fie on snbtle shrews I 

The best is, I may speed 
To get a lodging any where 

For money in my need. 40 

" False woman, now farewell ; 

Whilst twenty pound doth last, 
My anchor in some other haven 

With freedom I will cast." 

When she perceiv'd by this, 45 

I had store of money there, 
" Stay, George," quoth she, " thou art too quick : 

Why, man, I did but jeer. 

'* Dost think for all my speech, 

That I would let thee go ? 60 

Faith no," said she, ** my love to thee 

I-wiss is more than so." 

" You scome a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear : 
Wherefore I will not trouble you." 55 

'* Nay, George, hark in thine ear ; 

" Thou shalt not go to-night, 

What chance soe're befall ; 
But man, we'll have a bed for thee, 

Or else the devil take all." 60 

8o I by wiles bewitcht. 

And snar'd with fancy still. 
Had then no power to * get ' away, 

Or to withstand her will. 



GEORGE BARNWELL. 287 

For wine on wine I call'd, 65 

And cheer npon good cheer ; 
And nothing in the world I thought 

For Sarah's love too dear. 

Whilst in her company, 

I had snch merriment, 70 

An, all too little I did think, 

That I npon her spent. 

" A fig for care and thought ! 

When all my gold is gone, 
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75 

Whoever I light npon. 

" My father's rich ; why then 

Should I want store of gold ? " 
" Nay, with a father, sure," quoth she, 

" A son may well make bold." 8l) 

" I've a sister richly wed ; 

I'll rob her ere I'll want." 
" Nay, then," quoth Sarah, " they may well 

Consider of your scant." 

•' Nay, I an uncle have ; 85 

At Ludlow he doth dwell ; 
He is a grazier, which in wcMEdth 

Doth all the rest excell. 

" Ere I will live in lack. 

And have no coyn for thee, 90 

I'll rob his house, and murder him." 

" Why should you not ? " quoth she : 

" Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate, 
On father, friends, and all my kin 95 

I would my talons grate. 

" For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast : 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest. 100 



288 QEOROE BABNWELL. 

" For shouldst thou be pursued 

With twenty hues and cryes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus* hundred eyes, 

" Yet here thou shalt be safe ; 106 

Such privy ways there be, 
That if tiiiey sought an hundred year% 

They could not find out thee." 

And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content, 110 

George Barnwell had in little space 

His money wholly spent. 

Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go. 
To rob his wealthy uncle there ; 115 

His minion wotdd it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way, 
But that he fear'd his master had 

Took order for his stay.^ 120 

Unto his undo then 

He rode with might and main, 
Who with a welcome and good cheer 

Did Barnwell entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed, 125 

Until it chanced so. 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market go. 

His kinsman rode with him, 

Where he did see right plain, 130 

Great store of money he had took : 

When coming home again, 

Sudden within a wood. 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head ; 135 

So sore he crackt his crown, 

i, e. for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's. 



GEOBGE BABNWELL. 289 

Then seizing fourscore ponnd, 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sarah Millwood all 

The cruel fact descryed. 140 

" Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort, 

And deck us fine and brave." 

Thus lived in filthy sort, 146 

Until their store was gone : 
When means to get them any more, 

I-wis poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door ; 150 

Which is the just reward of those, 

Who spend upon a whore. 

^ O do me not disgrace 

In this my need," quoth he : 
She call'd him thief and murderer, 155 

With all the spight might be. 

To the constable she sent, 

To have him apprehended ; 
And showed how far, in each degree, 

He had the laws offended. 160 

When Barnwell saw her drift, 

To sea he got straightway ; 
Where fear and sting of conscience 

Continually on him lay. 

Unto the lord mayor then, 165 

He did a letter write. 
In which his own and Sarah's fjBinlt 

He did at large recite. 

Whereby she seized was. 

And then to Ludlow sent, 170 

Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, 

For murier incontinent. 

VOL. IL u 



390 THE STBD7A8T BHEPHKBD* 

There dyed this gallant qnoan, 

Such was her greatest gains ; 
For murder in Polonia, 176 

Was Barnwell hang'd in chains. 

Lo ! here's the end of youth 

That after harlots haunt, 
Who in the spoil of other men 

About the streets do flaunt 180 



VII. 
C|)e Kuwait d|)ip]^erlr. 

These beautiful etanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some 
account was given in the First Volume: see the song entitled, The 
8hepherc^8 Besolution, book v. song xxi. In the first edition of this 
work, only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was after- 
wards rendered more complete and entire by the addition of five stanzas 
more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, entitled, The Mistress of 
Philarete, of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more 
correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the 
author in his improved edition of TJie Shepherd^s Bunting^ 1620, 8yo. 

Hbnoe away, thou Syren, leave me ! 

Pish I unclaspe these wanton armes ; 
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me, 
(Though they prove a thousand charmes). 

Fie, fie, forbieare ; 5 

No common snare 
Can ever my affection chaine ; 
Thy painted baits. 
And poore deceits, 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 

Tme no slave to such as you be ; 
Neither shall that snowy brest, 
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby 
Ever robb me of my rest I 

Goe, goe, display 15 

Thy beautie'ft ray 



THE STEDFAST BHEPHEBD. 291 

To some more soone-enamour'd swaine ; 

Those common wiles 

Of sighs and smiles 
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20 

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ; 
Tume away thy tempting eye ; 
Shew not me a painted beautie ; 
These impostures I defie. 

My spirit lothes 25 

Where gawdy clothes 
And fained othes may love obtains ; 

I love her so 

"Whose looke sweares No, 
That all your labours will be vaine. 30 

Can he prize the tainted posies, 

Which on every brest are wome ; 
That may plucke the virgin roses 
From their never-touched thome ? 

I can goe rest 35 

On her sweet brest, 
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine ; 

Then stay thy tongue ; 

Thy mermaid song 
Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40 

Hee's a foole that basely dallies, 

Where each peasant mates with him ; 
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, 
Whilst ther's noble luls to climbe ? 

No, no, though clownes 45 

Are scar'd withfrownes, 
I know the best can but disdains ; 

And those He prove, 

So will thy love 
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50 

I doe scome to vow a dutie, 

Where each lustf ull lad may wooe ; 
Give me her whose sun-like beautiQ 

Buzzards dare not soars unto : 

u2 



292 THE SPANISH TJB6IN, 

Shee, fihee it is 55 

Affoords that blisse 
For which I would refuse no paiae. 

But such as you. 

Fond fooles, adieu ; 
Tou seeke to captive me in yaine. 60 

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me I 
Seeke no more to worke my harmes ; 
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me, 

Who am proofe against your charmes ; 

You labour may 65 

To lead astray 
The heart that constant shall remaine ; 

And I the while 

Will sit and smile 
To see you spend your time in vaine. 70 



vm. 

C|)e ^faxii^ 17trg;tn, or 3ESe(ts; of Siabuslp. 

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragica. 
Btories, entitled, " The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and 
Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. iL p. 89.— The text is given (with corrections; 
from two copies ; one of .them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. 
In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way 
of burden : 

'< Oh jealousie I thou art nurst in hell : 
Depart from hence, and therein dwell.** 

All tender hearts, that ake to hea^r 

Of those that suffer wrong ; 
All you that never shed a t^, 

Give heed unto my song. 

Fair Isabella's tragedy 6 

My tale doth far exceed : 
Alas, that so much cruelty 

In female hearts should breed ! 



(^ 



OB wnmoTS OF jealottst. 293 

In Spain a lady liy'd of late, 

Who was of high degree ; 10 

Whose wayward temper did create 

Much woe and misery* 

Strange jealousies so filled her head 

With many a vain surmize, 
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15 

And did her love despise. 

A gentlewoman passing fair 

Did on this lady wait ; 
With bravest dames she might compare ; 

Her beauty was compleat. 20 

Her lady cast a jealous eye 

Upon this gentle maid. 
And taxt her with disloyaltye, 

And did her oft upbraid. 

In silence still this maiden meek 25 

Her bitter taunts would bear, 
While oft adown her lovely cheek 

Would steal the falling tear. 

In vain in humble sort she strove 

Her fury to disarm ; 30 

As well the meekness of the dove 

The bloody hawke might charm. 

Her lord, of humour light and gay, 

And innocent the while. 
As oft as she came in his way, 85 

Would on the damsell smile. 

And oft before his lady's face. 

As thinking her her friend, 
He would the maiden's modest grace 

And comeliness commend. 40 

All which incens'd his lady so. 

She burnt with wrath extreame : 
At length the fire that long did glow. 

Burst forth into a flame. 



294 THB flfPANisH TntQnr, 

For on a day it so befell, 45 

When he was gone from home, 
The lady all with rage did swell. 

And to the damseU come* 

And charging her with great offence, 
And many a grievous fault, 50 

She bade her servants drag her thence, 
Into a dismal vault. 

That lay beneath the commonnshore, — 

A dungeon dark and deep, 
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55 

Offenders great to keep. 

There never light of chearfal day 

Dispers'd the hideous gloom ; 
But dank and noisome vapours play 
Around the wretched room : 60 

And adders, snakes, and toads therein. 

As afterwards was known. 
Long in this loathsome vault had bin, 

Anid were to monsters grown. 

Into this foul and fearful place, 65 

The fair one innocent 
Was cast, before her lady's £Etce ; 

Her malice to content. 

This maid no sooner entered is, 

But strait, alas ! she hears 70 

The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss : 

Then grievously she fears. 

Soon from their holes the vipers creep, 

And fiercely her assail. 
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75 

And her sad fate bewail. 

With her fair hands she strives in vain 

Her body to defend ; 
With shrieks and cries she doth complain, 

But all is to no end. 80 



OB EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY. 295 

A servant listning near the door. 

Struck with her doleful noise, 
Strait ran his lady to implore ; 

But she'll not hear his voice. 

With bleeding heart he goes agen 85 

Tc mark the maiden's groans ; 
And plainly hears, within the den. 

How she herself bemoans. 

Again he to his lady hies, 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

She into furious passion flies, 

And orders him away. 

Still back again does he return 

To hear her tender cries ; 
The virgin now had ceas'd to monm, 95 

Which fill'd him with surprize. 

In grief, and horror, and affright. 

He listens at the walls. 
But finding all was silent quite, 

He to his lady calls. 100 

" Too sure, O lady," now quoth he, 

" Your cruelty hath sped ; 
Make hast, for shame, and come and see ; 

I fear the virgin's dead." 

She starts to hear her sudden fSftte, 105 

And does with torches run ; 
But all her haste was now too late, 

For death his worst had done. 

The door being open'd, strait they found 

The virgin stretch'd along ; 110 

Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round. 
Which her to death had stung. 

One round her legs, her thighs, her waist, 

Had twined his fatal wreath ; 
The other close her neck embraced, 115 

And stopt her gentle breath. 



296 JEALOUST, TTBAirr OF THI MIND. 

The snakes being from her body thmst. 

Their bellies were so filled. 
That with excess of blood they burst, 

Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120 

The wicked lady, at this sight. 

With horror strait ran mad ; 
So raying dy'd, as was most right, 

'Oanse she no pity had. 

Let me advise yon, ladies all, 125 

Of jealousy beware : 
It causeth many a one to fall, 

And is the devil's snare. 



IX. 

^tOouaSf extant ot (^t i&ints. 

This song is by Diyden, being inserted in his Tragi-Comedy of Love 
Triumphant, &o. On account of the subject, it is inserted here. 

What state of life can be so blest. 
As love that warms the gentle brest ; 
Two souls in one : the same desire 
To grant the bliss and to require ? 

If in this heaven a hell we find, 5 

'Tis all from thee, 
O Jealousie! 
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 

All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
Serve to refine and perfect love ; 10 

In absence or unkind disdaine, 
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine. 
But, oh, no cure but death we find 
To sett us free 

From Jealousio, 15 

Thou tyrant, tyrant, of the mind* 



CONSTANT PBNELOPUL 297 

False in thy glass all objects are, 
Some sett too near, and some too far ; 
Then art the fire of endless night. 
The fire that bums and gives no light, 20 

All torments of the danm'd we find 
In only thee, 
O Jealonsie I 
Then tyrant, tyrant of the mind. 



X. 

Constant Jj^tmloft. 

The ladies are indebted for the following notable doomnents to the 
Pepys collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and is 
entitled, ^^A Looking-Glass for Ladles, or a Mirrour foz Married 
Women, Tune, Queen Dido, or, Troy town." 

When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife, 
And lords in armour bright were seen, 

When many a gallant lost his life 
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen, 

Ulysses, general so free, 5 

Did leave his dear Penelope. 

When she this wofdll news did hear, 
That he would to the warrs of Troy, 

For grief she shed full many a tear 

At parting from her only joy ; 10 

Her ladies aQ about her came, 

To comfort up this Grecian dame. 

Ulysses, with a heavy heart, 

Unto her then did mildly say : 
<' The time is come that we must part ; 15 

My honour calls me hence away ; 
Tet in my absence, dearest, be 
My constant wife, Penelope." 



298 OONSTAlffT PBNKLOFS. 

^ Let me no longer live," she sayd, 

^ Then to my loid I true remam ; 20 

My hononr shaJl not be betray'd 

Until I see my love again ; 
For I will ever constant prove. 
As is the loyal turtle-dove." 

Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25 

And to the ships his way he took ; 

Her tender eyes dropt many a tear ; 
Still casting many a longing look, 

She saw him on the surges glide, 

And unto Neptune thus she cry'd : 80 

" Thou god, whose power is in the deep 

And rulest in the ocean main, 
My loving lord in safety keep 

TiU he return to me again ; 
That I his person may behold, 85 

To me more precious fieir than gold/* 

Then straight the ships with nimble sails 
Were aU convey'd out of her sight ; 

Her cruel fate she then bewails, 

Since she had lost her heart's delight. 40 

" Now shall my practice be," quoth rfie, 

" True vertue and humility. 

" My patience I will put in ure. 

My charity I will extend ; 
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45 

The helpless now I will befriend : 
The widow and the fatherless 
I will relieve, when in distress." 

Thus she continued year by year 

In doing good to every one ; 6C 

Her fame was noised every where. 

To young and old the same was known, 
That she no company would mind 
Who were to vanity inclined. 



CONSTANT PENELOPE. 299 

Mean while Ulysses fought for fame 56 

'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life ; 
Young gallants, hearing of her name, 

Came flocking for to tempt his wife : 
For she was lovely, young, and fair, 
No lady might with her compare. 60 

With costly gifts and jewels fine 

They did endeavour her to win ; 
With banquets and the choicest wine, 

For to allure her unto sin ; 
Most persons were of high degree 65 

Who courted fair Penelope. 

With modesty and comely grace 

Their wanton suits she did denye ; 
No tempting charms could e*er deface 

Her dearest husband's memorye ; 70 

But constant she would still remain, 
Hopeing to see him once again. 

Her book her dayly comfort was. 

And that she often did peruse ; 
She seldom looked in her glass ; 75 

Powder and paint she ne'er would use. 
I wish all ladies were as free 
From pride as was Penelope ! 

She in her needle took delight. 

And likewise in her spinning-wheel ; 80 

Her maids about her every night 

Did use the distaff and the reel ; 
The spiders, that on rafters twine. 
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine. 

Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85 

And absence of her dearest love ; 
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross. 

Her fortune on the waves to prove. 
" I fear my lord is slain," quoth she, 
" He stays so fi.'om Penelope.** 90 



BOO TO LU0A8TA, ON GOINO TO THE WABfl. 

At length the ten years siege of Troy 
Did end ; in flames the city bum'd ; 

And to the Grecians was great joy 
To see the towers to ashes tum'd ; 

Then came Ulysses home to see 95 

His constant, dear Penelope. 

O blame her not if she was glad 
When she her lord again had seen. 

" Thrice-welcome home, my dear," she said, 

'* A long time absent thou hast been ; 100 

The wars shall never more deprive 

Me of my lord whilst I'm alive." 

Fair ladies all, example take ; 

And hence a worthy lesson learn, 
All youthful follies to forsake, 105 

And vice from virtue to discern ; 
And let all women strive to be 
As constant as Penelope. 



XL 

Co %nca^ia, on s^mg to t|ie WiatiS. 

By Colonel Bichard Lovelace : from the volume of his poems, entitled 
ImcosUl, Lond. 1649, 12mo. The elegance of this writer's man:iei 
would be more admired if it had somewhat more of simplioity. 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde. 

That from the nunnerie 
Of thy chaste brest and quiet minde, 

To warre and armes I flie. 

True, a new mistresse now I chase, 5 

The first foe in the field ; 
And with a stronger faith imbrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 



r. 



VALENTINE AND T7BSIN1. 801 

Tet this inconstancy is such, 

As you too shall adore ; 10 

I could not love thee, deare, so much, 

Loy'd I not honour more. 



xn. 

TJalmtme antr VSxaint. 

The old story-book of Yalentine and Orson (which suggested the plan 
of this tale, but it is not strictly followed in it) was originally a trans- 
lation from the French, being one of their earliest attempts at romance. 
Bee " Le Bibliothfeque de Romans, &c." 

The circumstance of the bridge of bells is taken from the old metrical 
legend of Sir Bevis, and has also been copied in the Seven Champions. 
The original lines are, 

" Over the dyke a bridge there lay, 
That man and beest might passe away : 
Under the brydge were sixty belles ; 
Right as the Komans telles; 
That there might no man passe in, 
But all they rang with a gyn/' 

Sign. £. iv. 

In the Editor's folio MS. was an old poem on this subject, in a 
wretched corrupt state, unworthy the press : from which were taken 
such particulars as could be adopted. 

PART THE FIRST. 

When Flora 'gins to decke the fields 

With colours fresh and fine, 
Then holy derkes their mattins sing 

To good Saint Yalentine ! 

The King of France that morning fair 

He would a hunting ride, 
To Artois forest prancing forth 

In all his princelye pride. 

To grace his sports a courtly train 

Of gallant peers attend ; 10 

And with their loud and cheerful dyes 

The hills and valleys rend. 



802 YALENTINB AND T7B8INS. 

Throngli the deep forest swift they pasfl^ 
Through woods and thickets wild ; 

When down within a lonely dell 16 

They fonnd a new-bom child ; 

All in a scarlet kercher lay'd 

Of silk so fine and thin ; 
A golden mantle wrapt him roond, 

Pinn'd with a silver pin. 20 

The sadden sight snrpriz'd them all ; 

The courtiers gathered round ; 
They look, they call, the mother seek ; 
No mother could be found. 

At length the king himself drew near, 25 

And as he gazing stands, 
The pretty babe look'd up and smil'd, 

And stretch'd his little hands. 

" Now, by the rood," King Pepin says, 

" This child is passing fair ; 3C 

I wot he is of gentle blood : 
Perhaps some prince's heir. 

" Goe bear him home unto my court 

With all the care ye may. 
Let him be christen'd Valentine, 85 

In honour of this day ; 

'< And look me out some cunning nurse ; 

Well nurtured let him bee ; 
Nor ought be wanting that becomes 

A bairn of high degree." 40 

They look'd him out a cunning nurse ; 

And nurtur'd well was he ; 
Nor ought was wanting that became 

A bairn of high degree. 

Thus grewe the little Valentine, 45 

BeloVd of king and peers. 
And sheVd in all he spake or did 

A wit beyond his years. 



/ 



VALENTINE AND T7BSINB. 803 

But cLief in gallant feates of arms 

He did himself advance, 60 

TLat ere he grewe to man's estate 

He had no peere in France. 

And now the early downe began 

To shade his youthful chin, 
When Valentine was dabb'd a knight, 55 

That he might glory win. 

" A boon, a boon, my gracious liege, 

I beg a boon of thee I 
The first adventure that befalls 

May be reserv'd for mee." 60 

" The first adventure shall be thine ;" 

The king did smiling say. 
Nor many days, when low I there came 

Three palmers clad in graye. 

" Help, gracious lord," they weeping say'd ; 65 

And £ielt, as it was meet ; 
" From Artoys forest we be come, 

With weak and wearye feet. 

** Within those deep and drearye woods 

There wends a savage boy ; 70 

Whose fierce and mortel rage doth yield 
Thy subjects dire annoy. 

<' 'Mong ruthless beares he sure was bred ; 

He lurks within their den ; 
With beares he lives ; with beares he feeds, 75 

And drinks the blood of men. 

** To more than savage strength he joins 

A more than human skill ; 
For arms, ne cunning may suffice 

His cruel rage to still." 80 

Up then rose Sir Valentine 

And daim'd that arduous deed. 
^ Go forth and conquer," say'd the king, 

*^ And great shall be thy meed." 



804 ALSMTHnB AND URSINB. 

Well mounted on a milk-white steed, 85 

His armour white as snow : 
As well beseem'd a virgin knight, 

Who ne'er had fought a foe. 

To Artoys forest he repairs 

With all the haste he may ; 90 

And soon he spies the savage youth 

A rending of his prey. 

His unkempt hair all matted hung 

His shaggy shoulders round ; 
His eager eye all fiery glow'd; 95 

His face with fury frown'd. 

Like eagles' talons grew his nails ; 

His limbs were thick and strong ; 
And dreadful was the knotted oak 

He bare with him along. 100 

Soon as Sir Valentine approach'd, 

He starts with sudden spring ; 
And yelling forth a hideous howl, 

He made the forests ring. 

As when a tyger fierce and fell 105 

Hath spied a passing roe, 
And leaps at once upon his throat ; 

So sprung the savage foe ; 

So lightly leap'd with furious force 

The gentle knight to seize, 110 

But met his tall uplifted spear, 

Which sunk him on his knees. 

A second stroke so stiff and stem 

Had laid the savage low ; 
But springing up, he rais'd his dub 116 

And aim'd a dreadful blow. 

The watchful warrior bent his head, 

And shun'd the coming stroke ; 
Upon his taper spear it fell, 

And all to shivers broke. 120 



VALENTINE AND XJBSINE. 805 

Then lighting nimbly from his steed| 

He drew his burnisht brand ; 
The savage quick as lightning flew 

To wrest it from his hand. 

Three times he grasp'd the silver hilt ; 125 

Three times he felt the blade ; 
Three times it fell with furious foroe ; 

Three ghastly wounds it mada 

Now with redoubled rage he roar'd ; 

His eye-ball flash'd with fire ; 130 

Each hairy limb with fury shook ; 

And all his heart was ire. 

Then closing fast with furious gripe 

He clasp'd the champion round, 
And with a strong and sudden t\nst 135 

He laid him on the ground. 

But soon the knight, with active spring, 

0*ertum*d his hairy foe ; 
And now between their sturdy fists 

Past many a bruising blow. 140 

They roU'd and grappled on the ground. 

And there they struggled long : 
Skilful and active was the knight ; 

The savage he was strong. 

But brutal force and savage strength 145 

To art and skill must yield : 
Sir Valentine at length prevailed, 

And won the well-fought field. 

Then binding strait his conquer'd foe 

Fast with an iron chain, 150 

He tyes him to his horse's tail, 
And leads him o'er the plain. 

To court his hairy captive soon 

Sir Valentine doth bring ; 
And kneeling downe upon lus kneOi 156 

Presents Mm to the king. 

VOL. XX. Z 



806 TALSNTINE AND UBSHni. 

With loss of blood and loss of strength 

The savage tamer grew ; 
And to Sir Valentine became 

A servant, try'd and trae. 160 

And 'canse with beares be erst was bred, 

Ursine tbey call his name ; 
A name which unto future times 

The Muses shall proclame. 

PAKT THE SECOND. 

In high renown with prince and peere 

Now liv*d Sir Valentine ; 
His high renown with prince and peere 

Made envious hearts repine. 

It chanc'd the king upon a day 5 

Prepar'd a sumptuous feast. 
And there came lords and daiiity dames, 

And many a noble guest. 

Amid their cups that freely flow'd. 

Their revelry and mirth, 10 

A youthful knight tax'd Valentine 

Of base and doubtful birth. 

The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd, 

His generous heart did wound ; 
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15 

Till he his parents found. 

Then bidding king and peers adieu, 

Early one summer's day, 
With faithful Ursine by his side, 

From court he took his way. 20 

O'er hill and valley, moss and moor, 

For many a day they pass ; 
At length, upon a moated lake. 

They found a bridge of brass. 

y«r. 23, t. e. a lake that serred for a moat to a castle. 



TALBKTnne and xtbsins. 307 

Beyond it rose a castlo fair, 25 

Y-built of marble-stone ; 
The battlements were gilt with gold, 

And glittred in the sun. 

Beneath the bridge, with strange device, 
A hundred bells were hung ; 80 

That man, nor beast, might pass thereon 
But strait their lanim rung. 

This quickly found the youthful pair, 

Who boldly crossing o'er, 
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 86 

And rung from shore to shore. 

Quick at the sound the castle gates 

Unlocked and opened wide, 
And strait a gyant huge and grim 

Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40 

* Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will ;" 

He cried with hideous roar ; 
" Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh, 

And ravens drink your gore." 

** Vain boaster," said the youthful knight, 46 

'' I scorn thy threats and thee ; 
I trust to force thy brazen gates, 

And set thy captives free." 

Then putting spurs unto his steed, 

He aim'd a dreadful thrust ; 60 

The spear against the gyant glanc'd 

And caus'd the blood to burst. 

Mad and outrageous with the pain, 

He whirl'd his mace of steo) ; 
The very wind of such a blow 66 

Had made the champion ityel. 

It haply mist ; and now the Icnight 

His glittering sword display's. 
And riding round with whirlwind speed 

Oft made him feel the blade. 60 

X 2 



808 TALBNTINB AND UBSINa. 

As when a large and monstrous oak 

Unceasing axes hew, 
So fast around the gyant's limbs 

The blows quick-darting flew. 

As when the boughs with hideous &11 65 

Some hapless woodman crush. 
With such a force the enormous foe 

Did on the champion rusli. 

A fearful blow, alas I there came ; 

Both horse and knight it took, 70 

And laid them senseless in the dust ; 

So fatal was the stroke. 

Then smiling forth a hideous grin, 

The gyant strides in haste. 
And, stooping, aims a second stroke : 75 

" Now cay tiff breathe thy last 1" 

But ere it fell, two thundering blows 

Upon his scull descend ; 
From Ursine's knotty club they came. 

Who ran to save his friend. 80 

Down sunk the gyant gaping wide, 

And rolling his grim eyes ; 
The hairy youth repeats his blows ; 

He gasps, he groans, he dies. 

Quickly Sir Valentine reyiv'd 85 

With Ursine's timely care ; 
And now to search the castle walls 

The venturous youths repair. 

The blood and bones of murder'd knights 

They found where'er they came ; 90 

At length within a lonely cell 
They saw a mournful dame. 

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears ; 

Her cheeks were pale with woe ; 
And long Sir Valentine besought 95 

Her doleful tale to know. 



TALENTINB AND UBSINIB. 809 

** Alas I young knight," she weeping said, 

" Condole my wretched fete ; 
A childless mother here you see ; 

A wife without a mate. 100 

** These twenty winters here forlorn 

I've drawn my hated breath ; 
Sole witness of a monster's crimes, i 

And wishing aye for death. 

" Know, I am sister of a king, 105 

And in my early years 
Was married to a mighty prince, 

The fairest of his peers. 

" With him I sweetly liVd in love 

A twelvemonth and a day ; 110 

When, lo I a foul and treacherous priest 

Y -wrought our loves' decay. 

" His seeming goodness wan him pow'r, 

He had his master's ear. 
And long to me and all the world 115 

He did a saint appear. 

" One day, when we were all alone. 

He proffer 'd odious love ; 
The wretch with horrour I repuls'd. 

And from my presence drove. 120 

" He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'd 

His crime I'd not re^ eal ; 
Which, for his seeming penitence 

I promis'd to conceal. 

" With treason, villainy, and wrong, 125 

My goodness he repay'd ; 
With jealous doubts ho fill'd my lord, 

And me to woe betray'd ; 

" He hid a slave within my bed. 

Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130 

My lord, possest with rage, condemned 

Me, all unheard, to dye. 



810 TALENTINE AND VBBUlM. 

^ Bat, 'cause I then was great with child 

At length my life he spar'd ; 
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135 

One trusty knight my guard. 

Forth on my journey I depart, 

Opprest with grief and woe, 
And tow'rds my brother's distant court. 

With breaking heart, I goe. 140 

** Long time thro' sundry foreign lands 

We slowly pace along ; 
At length, within a forest wild, 

1 feU in labour strong : 

*' And while the knight for succour sought, 115 

And left me there forlorn. 
My childbed pains so fast increast 

Two lovely boys were bom. 

" The eldest fair and smooth, as snow 

That tips the mountain hoar ; 150 

The younger'a little body rough 
With hairs was cover'd o'er. 

" But here afresh begin my woes : 

While tender care I took 
To shield my eldest from the cold, 155 

And wrap him in my cloak, 

** A prowling bear burst from the wood, 

And seiz'd my younger son ; 
Affection lent my weakness wings 

And after them 1 run. 160 

** But all forewearied, weak and spent, 

I quickly swoon'd away ; 
And there beneath the greenwood shade 

Long time I lifeless lay. 

*' At length the knight brought me relief, 165 

And rais'd me from the ground ; 
But neither of my pretty babes 

Could ever more be found. 



TALENTINS ANB UBSINX. 811 

•* And, while in soaFch we wander'd fiur, 

We met that gyant grim, 170 

Who ruthless slew my trusty knight. 
And bare me off with him. 

^' But charm'd by heay'n, or else my griefiSi 

He ofifer'd me no wrong ; 
Save that within these lonely walls 175 

I've been immur'd so long." 

** Now, surely," said the youthful knight, 

'* You are Lady Bellisance, 
Wife to the Grecian Emperor ; 

Your brother's King of France. 180 

" For in your royal brother's court 

Myself my breeding had ; 
Where oft the story of your woes 

Hath made my bosom sad. 

" If so, know your accuser's dead, 185 

And dying own'd his crime ; 
And long your lord hath sought you out 

Thro' every foreign clime. 

" And when no tidings he could learn 

Of his much-wronged wife, 19C 

He vow'd thenceforth within his court 

To lead a hermit's life." 

*^ Now heaven is kind I " the lady said ; 

And dropt a joyful tear : 
** Shall I once more behold my lord ? 196 

That lord I love so dear ?" 

*• But, madam," said Sir Valentine, 

And knelt upon his knee ; 
** Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe. 

If you the same should see ? " 200 

And pulling forth the cloth of gold 

In which himself was found, 
The lady gave a sudden shriel^ 

And fainted on the ground. 



812 TALVNTHnB AND UB8INX. 

But by his pious care reviy'd, 205 

His tale she heard anon ; 
And soon by other tokens found 

He was indeed her son. 

*' But who's this hairy youth ?" she said ; 

" He much resembles thee ; 210 

The bear devour'd my younger son, 

Or sure that son were he." 

** Madam, this youth with bears was bred, 

And rear'd within their den. 
But recollect ye any mark 215 

To know your son agen ?" 

** Upon his little side," quoth she, 

" Was stampt a bloody rose." 
**Here, lady, see the crimson mark 

Upon his body grows I" 220 

Then clasping both her new-found sons 
She bath'd their cheeks with tears ; 

And soon towards her brother's court 
Her joyful course she steers. 

What pen can paint King Pepin's joy, 225 

His sister thus restor'd ! 
And soon a messenger was sent 

To cheer her drooping lord. 

Who came in haste with all his peers. 

To fetch her home to Greece ; 230 

Where many happy years they reign'd 
In perfect love and peace. 

To them Sir Ursine did succeed, 

And long the scepter bare. 
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France, 235 

And was his uncle's heir. 



THl DBAGON OF WANTLET« 818 

xni. 

C|)e Sragon of Wantbg. 

This hmnoTons song (as a former Editor' has well observed) is to old 
metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what JJon Quixote is to 
prose narratives of that kind^^a lively satire on their extravagant 
notions. But although the satire is thus general, the subject of this 
ballad is local and peculiar ; so that many of the finest strokes of humour 
are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to which 
they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, although 
we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which 
the satire referred, and shall detail the information with which we have 
been favoured in a separate memoir at the end of the poem. 

In handling his subject, the author has brought in most of the 
common incidents which occur in romance. The description of the 
dragon* — ^his outrages — the people flying to the knight for succour - 
his care in choosing his armour — his being drest for fight by a young 
damsel — and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory 
(allowing for the burlesque turn given to them), are what occur in 
every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse. 

K any one piece, more than another, is more particularly levelled at, 
it seems to be the old rhyming legend of Sir Bevis. There a dragon 
is attacked from a well in a manner not very remote from this of the 
ballad: 

** There was a well, so have I wynne, 

And Bevis stumbled ryght therein. 
* * * m 

Than was he glad without fayle. 

And rested a whyle for his avayle ; 

And dranke of that water his fyll ; 

And than he lepte out, with good wyll. 

And with Morglay his brande 

He assayled the dragon, 1 understando : 

On the dragon he smote so faste. 

Where that he hit the scales braste : 

The dragon then faynted sore, 

And cast a galon and more 

Out of his mouthe of venim strong, 

And on sir Bevis he it flong : 

It was venymous y-wis." 

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, yer. llOi 



> Collection of Historical Ballads, in 3 vols. 1727 
' See above, pp. 144 and 266. 



814 TBM DBAGON 01 WANTLBT. 

As the politic knigh.'s creeping out. and attacking tbe dragon, S»^ 
•eema evidently to allude to the following: 

** Beyis blessed himselfe, and forth yode, 
And iepte oat with haste full good ; 
And Beris unto the dragon gone is ; 
And the dragon also to Bevis. 
Longe and harde was that fyght 
Betwene the dragon and that knyght : 
But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore, 
He went to the well, and washed him there; 
He was as hole as any man. 
Ever freshe as whan he began. 
The dragon sawe it might not avayle 
Besyde the well to hold batayle ; 
He thought he would, wyth some wyle, 
Out of that place Bevis begyle ; 
He woulde have flowen then awaye. 
But Bevis Iepte after with good Morglaye, 
And hyt him under the wynge. 
As he was in his flyenge,*' &c. 

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &C. 

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the 
above incidents only through the medium of Spenser, who has assumed 
most of them< in his Fcierie Queen, At least some particulars in the 
description of the dragon, &c., seem evidently borrowe t from the latter. 
8ee book i. canto ii. where the dragon's " two wynges like sayls — huge 
long tayl — with stings — his cruel rending clawes — and yron teeth — his 
breath of smothering smoke and sulphur " — and the duration of the 
fight for upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in 
the following ballad ; though it must be confessed that these particulars 
are common to all old writers of romance. 

Although this ballad must have been written early in the last 
century, we have met with none but such as were comparatively 
modem copies. It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the 
Pepys collection, collated with such others as oould be procured. 

Old Btories tell how Hercules 

A dragon slew at Lema, 
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, 
To see and well discem-a : 
But he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5 

Or he bad ne'er done it, I warrant ye : 
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all. 
He slew the dragon of Wantlej. 



THB DBAGON OF WANTLET. 815 

This dragon had two furious wings, 

Each one upon each shoulder ; 10 

With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, 
Which made him bolder and bolder. 
He had long claws, and in his jaws 

Four and forty teeth of iron ; 
With a hide as tough as any buff, 15 

Which did him round environ. 

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse 

Held seventy men in his belly ? 
This dragon was not quite so big. 

But very near I'll tell ye. 20 

Devoured he poor children three, 

That could not with him grapple ; 
And at one sup he eat them up. 
As one would eat an apple. 

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat ; 25 

Some say he ate up trees, 
And that the forests sure he would 
Devour up by degrees ; 
For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies ; 

He ate all, and left none behind, 80 

But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack. 
Which on the hills you will find. 

In Yorkshire, near fair Botherham, 

The place I know it well, 
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 85 

I vow I cannot tell ; 
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, 

And Matthew's house hard by it ; 
O there and then was this dragon's den. 

You could not chuse but spy it. 40 

Some say, this dragon was a witch ; 

Some say he was a devil ; 
For from his nose a smoke arose, 

And with it burning snivel ; 

Ver. 29, were t him gorse and bircheu Other oopiei. 



816 THS DRAGON OF WANTLET. 

Which he cast off^ when he did cough, 45 

In a well that he did stand by, 
Which made it look just like a brook 

Banning with burning brandy. 

Hard by a fdrious knight there dwelt, 

Of whom all towns did ring, 50 

For he conld wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff and 
huff. 
Gall son of a whore, do any kind of thing. 
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain, 

He swung a horse till he was dead ; 
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55 

Eat him all un but his head. 

These children, as I told, being eat. 

Men, women, girls, and boys, 
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging. 

And made a hideous noise ; 60 

" save us all. More of More-hall, 

Thou peerless knight of these woods ; 
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, 
We'll give thee all our goods." 

" Tut, tut/* quoth he, " no goods I want : 65 

But I want, I want, in sooth, 
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen, 
With smiles about the mouth, 
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow. 

With blushes her cheeks adorning, 70 

To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, 
And to dress me in the morning." 

This being done, he did engage 

To hew the dragon down ; 
But first he went, new armour to 75 

Bespeak at Sheffield town ; 
With spikes all about, not within but without, 

Of steel so sharp and strong. 
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, 

Some five or six inches long. 8C 



THE DBAGON OF WAHTLBY, 817 

Had yon but seen him in this dress, 
How fierce he look'd and how big. 
You would have thought him for to be 
Some Egyptian porcupig. 
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85 

Each cow, each horse, and each hog : 
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be 
Some strange outlandish hedge->hog. 

To see this fight, all people then 

Got up on trees and houses ; 90 

On churches some, and chimneys too ; 
But these put on their trowses. 
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose. 

To make him strong and mighty, 
He drank by the tale six pots of ale, 95 

And a quart of aqua-yitad. 

It is not strength that always wins. 

For wit doth strength excell ; 
Which made our cunning champion 

Creep down into a well, 100 

Where he did think, this dragon would drink. 

And so he did in truth ; 
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, ** Boh !" 
And hit him in the mouth. 

" Oh,'* quoth the dragon, " pox take thee, come out I 105 

Thou disturb'st me in my drink : " 
And then he tum*d, and s ... at him ; 
Good lack how he did stink ! 
" Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul. 

Thy dung smeUs not like balsam ; 110 

Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore. 
Sure thy diet is unwholesome." 

Our politick knight, on the other side, 

Orept out upon the brink. 
And gave the dragon such a dousOi US 

He knew not what to think: 



818 THE DRAGON OF WANTLKT. 

•* By cock," qnoth he, " say yon so, do yon see ? *• 

And then at him he let fly 
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't ; 

And the word it was, Hey boys, hey I 120 

** Your words," quoth the dragon, " I don't understand ; " 

Then to it they fell at all. 
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may 
Compare great things with small. 
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 12S 

Onr champion on the ground ; 
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat, 
They never had one wound. 

At length the hard earth began to quake, 

llie dragon gave him a knock, 1 30 

Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought. 
To lift him as high as a rock. 
And theuce let him fall. But More of More hall. 

Like a valiant son of Mars, 
As he came like a lout, so he tum'd him about, 135 

And hit him a kick on the a . • . 

" Oh," quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh. 

And turn'd six times together, 
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing 

Out of his throat of leather ; 140 

•* More of More-hall ; O thou rascal 1 

Would I had seen thee never ; 
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a . . . gut, 
And I'm quite undone for-ever. 

•' Murder, murder," the dragon cry'd, 145 

*' Alack, alack, for grief; 
Had you but mist that place, you could 
Have done me no mischief." 
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, 

And down he laid and cry'd ; 15G 

First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, 
So gruan'd, kickt, s . . • , and dy'd. 



THE DRAGON OF WAKTLST. 819 

^^* A description of the supposed scene of the foregoing ballad, 
which was oummunicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the 
words of the relator : 

"lu Yorkshire, six miles from Botherham, is a village called 
"Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley Montague, Esq. About a mile 
from this village is a lodge, named WamcUff Lodge, but vulgarly 
called Wantley : here lies the scene of the song. I was there above 
forty years ago : and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me 
clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came 
to a sort of cave ; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to 
one end, says. Here lay the dragon killed by Moor, of Moor-hall : here 
lay his head ; here lay his tail : and the stones we came over on the 
hill, are those he could not crack ; and yon white house you see half a 
mile off, is Moor- hall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's 
name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he 
endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in 
the song : in the house is the picture of the dragon and Moor of Moor- 
hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the well described in the 
ballad." 

*^* Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, 
the following key to the satire hath been communicated by Godfrey 
Bosville, Esq., of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in the 
moct obliging manner, gave full permission to subjoin it to the poem. 

Warncliffe Lodge, and Warucliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced 
Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory 
of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, 
Westminster ; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family : who 
therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. 
The trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of Penniston to 
the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still 
more : for Air. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in kind ; 
but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in 
favour of the modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not 
go along with the rectory, but with the c<#pyhold rents, and was part 
of a large purchase made oy Ralph Bosville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, 
in the second year of her reign : and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to 
his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis ; who left it, with the 
rest of his estate, to his wife for her life, and then to Bulph, third son 
of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived 
eighteen years, and survived Ralph. 

Thijf premised, the balhid apparently relates to the law-suit carried 
en concerning this claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. 
''Houses and churches were tit him geese and turkeys;" which ara 
titbeable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir F^nds Wortley, 
the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tithes in kind : but 
the pari»luUmeni subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. And 
ftt the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed 
tu be one of ^ the fet#nes, dear Jack, which the dragon could not crack.** 
The agreement i» 0tUl preserved in a large sheet d parchment, dated 



820 8T. OEOBOB 70B ENGLAND. 

iHt of James I., and is full of names and seals, which might be mean < 
by the coat of armour " with upikes all about, both within and withe ut." 
More of More-hall was either the attorney, or counsellor, who con- 
ducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is 
Btill extant at the very bottom of Watitley [Waracliff] Wood, and lies 
80 low, that it might be said to be in a well : as the dragon's den 
[Warncliff Lodge! was at the top of the wood, " with Matthew's house 
Lard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were 
named, for many generations, Matthew Northall ; tha last of them left 
this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The 
present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's manor court at 
Ox-spring, and pays a Rose a year. *' More of Moi e-hall, with nothing 
at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley.** He gave him, instead of tithes, 
80 small a modus, that it was in effect nothing at all. and was slaying 
him with a vengeance. " The poor children three," &c., cannot surely 
mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been co- 
heiresses had he made no will ? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest 
with the descendants of two of them, t):e late Sir Greorge Saville's father, 
and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston. they supposing 
Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs 
at law; but it was decided against them. The dragon (Sir Francis 
Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordes worth, the freehold 
lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. 
Bosville), having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, 
under a promise that he would let him his tithes cheap : and now the 
estates of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tithes 
in the parish. 

N.B. The " two days and a night," mentioned in verse 125, as the 
duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law. 



XIV. 
dt. George for iEnglan)^. 

THE FIRST PAST. 

As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old 
ballads and metrical romances ; so this is a burlesque of their style ; 
particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of un- 
connected parts, so frequent in many of them. 

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepya 
collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient than 
many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of conneotiug 
w; th it the Sscond Pabt. 



fT. GEOBGE FOB ENGLAND. 831 

Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes, 
Knowing ' well ' how many men have endured fightes ? 
For besides King Arthur and Lancelot du Lake, 
Or Sir Tristram de Lionel that fought for ladies sake, 
Bead in old histories, and there you shall see 
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to 'flee. 
St. George he y(&s for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mcUypeme. 

Mark our fSather Abraham, when first he resckued Lot 
Onely with his household, what conquest there he got. 
David was elected a prophet and a king. 
He slew the great Goliah with a stone within a sling. 
Yet these were not knightes of the Table Bound, 
Nor St. George, St. George who the dragon did confound. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mid y jpense. 

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight. 
They conquered the Amorites and put them all to flight. 
Hercules his labours * were ' on the plaines of Basse ; 
And Sampson slew a thousand with tho jawbone of an 

asse. 
And eke he threw a temple downe and did a mighty 

spoyle. 
But St George, St. George he did the dragon foyle. 
St. George he was for England ; St Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mal ypenae. 

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell, 
And likewise of the Bomans, how fjEure they did excell ; 
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte; 
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte ; 
Bemus and Bomulus were they that Borne did builde. 
But St. Greorge, St. George the dragon made to yielde. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mal y penae. 

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king, 

The order of &e red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring ; ^ 

* This probably alludes to " An ancient Order of Knighthood, callrd the 
Or)er of the Band, instituted bj Don Alphonsos, king of Spain, .... to 
wear a red riband of three fingers breadth," &c See Ames, Typog. p. 327 

VOL. n. Y 



822 8T. OEOBOE FOB ESQLAm. 

He had a troope of mighty knightefl when first he did 

begin, 
Which sought adventures fiArre and neare that conquetst 

they might win ; 
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight. 
But St. George, St. George did wi& the dragon fight. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mat y pense. 

Many ' knights ' have fought with proud Tamberlaine ; 
Cntlax, the Dane, great warres he did maintaine ; 
Bowland of Beame and good * Sir ' Olivere 
In the forest of Aeon slew both woolfe and beare. 
Besides that noble Hollander, * Sir ' Goward with the bill. 
But St. George, St. Greorge the dragon's blood did spill. 
8t. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mal y penae, 

Valentine and Orson were of King Pepin's blood ; 
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good ; 
The four sons of Aymon, that foUow'd Charlemahie, 
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux and Godfrey of Bullaine, 
These were all French knightes that lived in that age. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage. 
8t. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mal y penae. 

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare. 

And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the 

Moore ; 
Sir Isenbras and Eglamore, they were knightes most bold ; 
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told ; 
There were many English knights that Pagans did 

convert. 
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for Franco ; 
Sing, Honi aoit qui mal y penae. 

The noble Earl of Warwick, that was call'd Sir Guy, 
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie ; 
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death 
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore 
heath; 



Bt. OEOBGE FOR ENGLAND. 823 

Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did appease. 
8t. George he was for England ; St Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal ypense, 

Eichard Coenr-de-lion, erst king of this land, 
He the lion gored with his naked hand ; ^ 
The false Duke of Austria nothing did he feare ; 
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare ; 
Besides his famous actes done in the Holy Lande. 
But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mal y pense. 

Henry the Fifth he conquered all France, 
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance ; 
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe, 
And his head he honoured with a double crowne ; 
He thumped the French-men, and after home he came. 
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame. 
St George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mcd y pense. 

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance ; 
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance ; 
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St Georges boy. 
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away : 
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine. 
But St. George, St. Greorge the dragon he hath slaine. 
St. Greorge he was for England ; St. Dennis was for France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense, 

* Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this king in th« old 
Boiaances. See the Dissertation prefixed to this yolume 



y 2 



8S4 ST. QBOBOl VOB nGLUIB. 

XV. 

j^t. Aeorge for Snglanlf. 

THl BBOOND PABT. 

Was written b)- John Gmbb, M.A^ of Christ Ghnroh, Oxford. The 
oooasion of its ^eiiig composed is said to have been as follows. A set 
of gentlemen of the nnivenity had formed themselves into a club, all 
the members of which were to be of the name of George : their anni- 
versary feast was tt) be held on St Georee's Day. Our author solicited 
stroiiglv to be admitted ; but his name being unfortunately John, this 
disqualification was dispensed with only upon this condition, — ^that he 
would compose a song in honour of their patron saint, and would every 
year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual 
festival This gave birth to the following humorous perfcmnance, the 
several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive anni- 
versflriea.* 

This diverting poem was long handed about in manoscript ; at 
length a friend of Grubb's undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping 
pace with the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the following 
whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not 
improperly accompany the poem itself. 

EXPOSTULATIUNCULA, sivG QXTERIMOIHUNCXTLA ad ANTONIUM [AthER- 

ton] ob Poema Johannis Gbubb, Viri rov xorv ingeniosissimi in lucem 
nondum editi. 

TONi ! Tune sines divina poemata Gmbbi 

Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer, 

TowofjLU aov shall last, A Tpvfifie Ztafiirepes aei 

Grubbe tuum nomen yivet dum nobilis sle-a 

Kfficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam. 

Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit ale-a 

Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liqnoris 

Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Super! Cherry-brandy. 

Saepe illi long-cut, yel small-cut flare Tobacco 

Sunt soliti pipes. Ast si generosior herba 

g'er varies casus, per tot discrimina rerum) 
undungus desit, turn non funcare recusant 



' To this circumstance it is owing that the Editor has never met with 
two copies in which the stanzas are arranged alike: he has therefore 
thrown them into what appeared th? most natural order. The verses art 
properly long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made it 
necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many improre- 
roenii. 



ST. GKOBGX FOB BNGLAKD. 825 

Brown-paper tosti, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat. 
Hie labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes I 
Ast ego quo rapiar ? quo me feret entheus ardor, 
Grubbe, tui memorem ? Divinum expande poema. 
Quae mora ? quae ratio est, quin Grubbi y>rotiiius anser 
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores ? 

At length the importunity of his frienda prevailed, and Mr. Grubb'f 
•ODg was published at Oxford, under the following title : 

The British Heroes, 

A New Poem in honour of St. George 

By Mr. John Grubb 

School-master of Christ-Church 

OxON. 1688. 
Favete Unguis : carmina non prku 
Audita, musarum sac&rdos 

Canto. HoR. 

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon. 

The story of King Arthur old 

Is very memorable, 
The number of his valiant knights, 

And roundness of his Table. 
The knights around his table in 5 

A circle sate, d'ye see, 
And altogether made up one 

Large hoop of chivaliy. 
He had a sword, both broad and sharp, 

Y-cleped Caliburn, 10 

Would cut a flint more easily 

Than pen-knife cuts a com ; 
As case-knife does a capon carve, 

So would it carve a rock, 
And split a man at single slash 15 

From noddle down to nock. 
As Eoman Augur's steel of yore 

Dissected Tarquin's riddle. 
So this would cut both conjurer 

And whetstone thro' the middle. 20 



836 8T. GlOBGl FOB BNOLAHSw 

He was the cream of Brecknock^ 
And flower of all the Welsh : 
But Greorge he did the dragon fell, 
And gave him a plaguy squelsh. 
8t George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 26 

Sing, Honi soit qui mat y perue, 

Pendragon, like his father Jove, 

Was fed with milk of goat ; 
And like him made a noble shield 

Of she-goat's shaggy coat ; 30 

On top of bumisht helmet he 

Did wear a crest of leeks 
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod 

Drew tears down hostile cheeks. 
Itch and Welsh blood did make him hot 85 

And very prone to ire ; 
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a matchi 

And would as soon take fire. 
As brimstone he took inwardly 

When scurf gave him occasion, 40 

His postern puff of wind was a 

Sulphureous exhalation. 
The Briton never tergivers'd, 

But was for adverse drubbing, 
And never tum'd his back to aught, 45 

But to a post for scrubbing. 
His sword would serve for battle, or 

For dinner, if you please ; 
When it had slain a Cheshire man 

'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 60 

He wounded and, in their own blood. 

Did anabaptize Pagans : 
But Greorge he made the dragon an 

Example to all dragons. 
8t. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 66 

Sing, Honi soit qui mal y peme. 

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time, 
Challeng'd a gyant savage; 



PT. GEOBGE FOn KNGLAND, 827 

And streight came out the unwieldy lout 

Brim-full of wrath and cabbage. 60 

He had a phiz of latitude, 

And was full thick i' th* middle ; 
The cheeks of puffed Trumpeter, 

And paunch of Squire Beadle.* 
But the knight fell'd him like an oak, 65 

And did upon his back tread ; 
The valiant knight his weazon cut, 

And Atropos his packthread. 
Besides he fought with a dun cow, 

As say the poets witty, 70 

A dreadful dun, and homed too, 

Like dun of Oxford city. 
The fervent dog-days made her mad, 

By causing heat of weather, 
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 76 

As bull-dogs did her father ; 
Grasiers nor butchers this fell beast, 

E*er of her frolick hindred ; 
John Dosset ^ she*d knock down as flat. 

As John knocks down her kindred ; 80 

Her heels would lay ye all along, 

And kick into a swoon ; 
Frewin's * cow-heels keep up your corpse, 

But hers would beat you down. 
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85 

And proud was of the honour; 
Was puflft by mauling butchers so. 

As if themselves had blown her. 
At once she kickt and pusht at Guy, 

But all that virould not fright him, 90 

Who waVd his winyard o'er sir-loyn, 

As if he'd gone to knight him. 
He let her blood, frenzy to cure. 

And eke he did her gall rip ; 
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95 

Ban thro' the monster's bald-rib ; 

* Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known al Oxford. 

* A butcher that then served the college. 

.^ A oook, who on fast-eights was famous for selling cow-heel and itif^^ 



828 8T. GSOBOK TOB ENGLAKB. 

He rear'd up the Tast crooked rib, 

Instead of arch triumphal : 
But George hit th' dragon such a pelft| 

As made him on his bum fSedL 100 

St. George he was for England ; St Dennis was far 
France ; 
Sing, Eoni soit qui mal y jpenae. 

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow. 

The Turkish squadrons slew, 
And fetched the pagan crescent down 105 

With half-moon made of yew. 
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall 

With showers of arrows thick, 
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent 

Grand- Visiers to old Nick ; 110 

Much turbants and much Pagan pates 

He made to humble in dust ; 
And heads of Saracens he fixt 

On spear, as on a sign-post ; 
He coop'd in cage Bajazet, the prop 115 

Of Mahomet's religion, 
As if t had been the whispering bird 

That prompted him, the pigeon. 
In Turkey-leather scabbard, he 

Did sheath his blade so trenchant : 120 

But George he swing'd the dragon's tail, 

And cut off every inch on't. 
Bt. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mdl y pense. 

The amazon Thalestris was 125 

Both beautiful and bold ; 
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot. 

And bang'd her foes with cold. 
Her hand was like the tool wherewith 

Jove keeps proud mortals under ; 180 

It shone just like his lightning, 

And batter'd like his thunder. 



ST. 6E0B0E FOB EKOLAKD. 829 

Her eye darts lightning that would blast 

The proudest ho that swagger'd, 
And melt the rapier of his soul, 135 

In its oorporea] scabbard. 
Her beauty and her drum, to foes, 

Did cause amazement double ; 
As timorous larks amazed are 

With light and with a low-bell, 140 

With beauty and that Lapland-oharm,^ 

Poor men she did bewitch all ; 
Still a blind whining lover had, 

As Pallas had her scrich-owl. 
She kept the chastness of a nun 145 

In armour, as in oloyster : 
But George undid the dragon just 

As you'd undo an oister. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 150 

Stout Hercules was offspring of 

Great Jove and fair Alcmene ; 
One part of him celestial was, 

One part of him terrene. 
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155 

Two fiery snakes combin'd. 
And, curling into a swaddling cloaths, 

About the infant twin'd ; 
But he put out these dragons' fires. 

And did their hissing stop ; 160 

As red-hot iron with hissing noise 

Is quencht in blacksmith's shop. 
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down 

The horses of new comers ; 
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165 

As Tom Wrench * does cucumbers. 
He made a river help him through, 

Alpheus was under-groom. 
The stream, disgust at ofBce mean. 

Ran murmuring thro' the room ; 170 

* The dmin. * Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford. 



380 ST. GEOBGK FOS enolamh. 

This liquid ostler to prevent 

Being tired with that long work, 
His father Neptune's trident took, 

Instead of tliree-tooth'd dung-fork. 
This Hercules, as soldier and I7& 

As spinster, oonld take pains ; 
His club would sometimes spin ye flax 

And sometimes knock out brains ; 
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shi^ 

By Juno's wrath and her-spite ; 180 

Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel. 

As cook whips barking turn-spit. 
From man or chum, he well knew how 

To get him lasting fame : 
He'd pound a giant till the blood, 185 

And milk till butter came. 
Often he fought with huge battoon, 

And oftentimes he boxed ; 
Tapt a fresh monster once a month, 

As Hervey ^ doth fresh hogshead. 190 

He gave Anteus such a hug, 

As wrestlers give in Cornwall : 
But George he did the dragon kill. 

As dead as any door-nail. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 

France ; 195 

Sing, Honi 8oit qui mal y penae. 

The Gemini, sprung from an egg, 

Were put into a cradle ; 
Their brains with knocks and bottled-ale. 

Were often-times full addle ; 200 

And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him 

That hurls the bolt trisuloate, 
With helmet-shell on tender head 

Did tustle with red-e/d pole-cat. 
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205 

A boxer was, I wist : 
The one was fam'd for iron heel ; 

Th' other for leaden fist 

' A aoted drawer at the Mermaid Tayern in Oxford. 



ST. GEORGB FOB ENGLAND. 831 

Pollux to shew he was a god, 

When he was in a passion 210 

With fist made noses fall down fiat 

By way of adoration : 
This fist, as sure as French disease, 

Demolish'd noses' ridges ; 
He, like a certain lord,^ was &m'd 215 

For breaking down of bridges. 
Castor the flame of fiery steed 

With well-spurr'd boots took down ; 
As men, with leathern backets, quench 

A fire in country town. 220 

His Dftmous horse, that liv'd on oats, 

Is sung on oaten quill ; 
By bards' immortal provender 

The nag surviveth still. 
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225 

Emplo/d their brisk artillery, 
And flew as naturally at rogues, 

As eggs at thief in pillory.^ 
Much sweat they spent in furious fight. 

Much blood they did efiimd ; 230 

Their whites they vented thro' the pores ; 

Their yolks thro' gaping wound. 
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust 

To make a heavenly sign ; 
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235 

And then hung up to shine ; 
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks, 

The sons of Jove and Tyndar : 
But George he cut the dragon up. 

As he had bin duck or windar. 240 

* Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the beginning 
•f the Revolution. See on this subject a ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102 
Lend. 1713. 

* It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent, that this was f 
popular subject at that time : 

Not carted Bawd, or Dan de Foe, 
In wooden Ruff ere bluster'd so. 

Smith's Poemft, p. 117. 



883 IT. OBOBOS FOB BBQLAHl^ 

St. George he was for Engknd ; 8c Dennifl WM for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi 9oii qm nud ypeme, 

Gorgon a twisted adder wore 

For knot upon her shoulder ; 
She kemb*d her hissing periwig, 245 

And curling snakes did powder. 
These snakes they made stiff changelingd 

Of all the folks they hist on ; 
They turned barbers into hones, 

And masons into free-stone. 250 

Sworded magnetic Amazon 

Her shield to load-stone changes ; 
Then amorous sword by magic belt 

Clung fast unto her haunches. 
This shield long village did protect, 255 

And kept the army from-town, 
And changed the bullies into rocks 

That came t' invade Long-Compton.^ 
She post-diluvian stores unmans, 

And Pyrrha's work unravels ; 260 

And stares Deucalion's hardy boys 

Into their primitive pebbles. 
Red noses she to rubies turns, 

And noddles into bricks : 
But George made dragon laxative ; 265 

And gave him a bloody flix. 
St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y pense. 

By boar-spear Meleager got i 

An everlasting name, 270 1 

And out of haunch of basted swine, \ 

He hew'd eteiBBl fame. 

This beast each hero's trouzers ript, 
And rudely shew'd his bare-breech, 

Sm the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott'g Hist, of Oxfordshire 



ST. 6X0B6E FOB BNGLAND. SOO 

Prickt but the wem, and out tliero came 275 

Heroic guts and garbadge. 
Legs were secured by iron boots 

No more than peas by peascods ; 
^ Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls, 

Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chesnnta 280 

His tawny hairs erected were 

By rage, that was resistless ; 
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax, 

Did stiffen his rising bristles. 
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285 

Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake um : 
It made them vent both their last blood, 

And their last album-grecum. 
But the knight gor'd him with his spear 

To make of him a tame one, 290 

And arrows thick, instead of cloves, 

He stuck in monster's gammon. 
For monumental pillar, that 

His victory might be known, 
He rais'd up, in cylindrio form, 295 

A collar of the brawn. 
He sent his shade to shades below. 

In Stygian mud to wallow : 
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon. 

He made the dragon follow. 300 

St. George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France ; 
Sing, Koni soit qui m<d y pense, 

Achilles of old Chiron learnt 

The great horse for to ride ; 
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 805 

The hinnible to bestride. 
Bright silver feet and shining face 

Had that stout hero's mother ; 
As rapier's silver'd at one end, 

And wounds you at the other. 810 

Her feet were bright, his feet were swift. 

As hawk pursuing sparrow ; 



884 8T. GIOBGB FOB KHOLAIfT). 

Her's had the metal, his the spoed 

Of Brabum's * silver arrow. 
Thetis to double pedagogue 815 

Oommits her dearest l^y ; 
Who bred him from a slender twig 

To be the scourge of Troy ; 
But ere he lasht the Trojans, h' was 

In Stygian waters steept, 820 

As birch is soaked first in piss 

When boys are to be whipt. 
With skin exceeding hard, he rose 

From lake, so black and muddy 
As lobsters from the ocean rise 825 

With shell about their body , 
And, as from lobster's broken claw. 

Pick out the fish you might, 
So might you from one unshell'd heel 

Dig pieces of the knight. 880 

His myrmidons robb'd Priam's bams 

And hen-roosts, says the soog; 
Carried away both oom and eggs, 

Like ants from whence they sprung. 
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335 

And sent him down bare-breech'd 
To pedant Radamanthus in 

A posture to be switch'd. 
But G^rge he made the dragon look 

As if he had been bewitched. 340 

St. G^rge he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France; 
Sing, Honi soil qui mdl y jpense. 

Full fatal to the Bomans was 

The Carthaginian Hanni- 
bal ; him I mean, who gave them such 345 

A devilish thump at Cannaa. 
Moors, thick as goats on Penmenmure, 

Stood on the Alpes's front ; 

* Brabnm, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln College, gave a silrtr 
to be ahot for by the archers of tha University of Oxford. 



ST. GEOBGE FOB ENGLAND. 835 

Their one-eyed guide,^ like blinking mole, 

Bor'd thro' the hindering mount : 350 

Who, baffled by the massy rock, 

Took vinegar for relief, 
Like plowmen, when they hew their way 

Thro' stubborn rump of beef. 
As dancing louts from humid toes 355 

Cast atoms of ill savour 
To blinking Hyatt,* when on vile crowd 

He merriment does endeavour. 
And saws from suffering timber out 

Some wretched tune to quiver, 360 

So Bomans stunk and squeak'd at sight 

Of Aflfrican camivor. 
The tawny surface of his phiz 

Did serve instead of vizzard : 
But George he made the dragon have 865 

A grumbling in his gizzard. 
Bt George he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mal y peme. 

The valour of Domitian, 

It must not be forgotten ; 370 

Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies 

Protected veal and mutton. 
A squadron of flies errant 

Against the foe appears, 
With regiments of buzzing knights, 875 

And swarms of volunteers. 
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em 

With animating hum ; 
And the loud brazen hornet next, 

He was their kettle-drum ; 880 

The Spanish Don Gantharido 

Did him most sorely pester, 

' Hamubal had but one eye. 

* A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddle, u well ai pla/ ca 
tbero ; well known at that time in Oxford. 



836 8T. GXOKOK FOB ENGLAND. 

And rais'd on skin of vonfrous knight 

Full many a plaguy blister. 
A bee whipt thro' his button-hole, 386 

As thro* key-hole a witch. 
And stabb'd him with her little tuck 

Drawn out of scabbard breech ; 
But the undaunted knight lifts up 

An arm both big and brawny, 390 

And slasht her so that here lay head, 

And there lay bag and honey ; 
Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift 

As weapon made by Cyclops, 
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395 

By dint of massy fly-flops. 
Surviving flies do curses breathe. 

And maggots too, at Gaasar : 
But Gleorge he shaVd the dragon's beard, 

And Adcelon ^ was his razor. 400 

St. €kK>rge he was for England ; St. Dennis was for 
France; 
Sing, Honi soit qui mai y penae, 

John Grubb, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a dis- 
tinguished figure among the O^ord wits so humorously enumerated in 
the following distich. 

Alma novem genuit celebres Rhedydna poetas : 

Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans. 

These were Bub Dodington (the late Lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, 
our poet Grubb, Mr. Oabb, Dr. Trapp, the poetry-professor. Dr. Edwurd 
Young, the author of Night Thoughts^ Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, 
Esq , and Dr. Evans, the epigrammatist. 



As for our poet Grubb, all that we can learn further of him, is con- 
tained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his 
epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667, 
being the son of John Grubb, ^* de Acton Bumel in comitatu Salop, 
pauperis.'' He took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28. 1671 : an<t 
became Master of Arts, June 28, 1 675. He was appointed Head Master 
of the Grammar School at Christ Church ; and afterwards chosen into 
the same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as appears 
from his monument in the church of St. Mary de Crypt in Glouc ester, 
which Is inscribed with the following epitaph : — 

* The name of St. George's sword. 



maboabbt's ghost. Wt 

H.S. E. 

Johannes Gbubb, A.M. 

Ketus apud Acton Barnel in agro Salopienri 

Anno Dom. 1645. 

Cnjus variam in Unguis n)titiam, 

•t felicem erudiendis pueris industriam, 

grati adhac roemorist testatur Oxonium. 

Ibi enim JEde Christi initiatos, 

artes excoluit; 

Pueros ad easdem moz ezcolendat 

accurate formavit : 

Hue demum 

nnanlmi omnium consensu acdtvp^ 

eandem suscepit provinciam, 

quam feliciter adeo absolvit, 

ut nihil optandum sit 

nisi nt diutius nobis inter fuisset. 

Fuit eziim 

propter festivam ingenii suavitateniy 

simplicem morum candorem, et 

pracipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam, 

omnibus desideratissimus. 

Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno D^ni, 1697, 

^tatis snsB 51. 



XVI. 

This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in of 
before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq., who. ia 
the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs ns that the plan was sug- 
gested by the four verses quoted above in page 186, which he supposed 
to be the beginning of some ballad now lost 

^ These Imes," says he, '* naked of ornament and simple as they are, 
struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind ^n unhappj 

YOL. n. 2 



338 maboabxt'8 ghost. 

•dventnre muoh talked of fonnerly, gave birth to the following poem, 
which was written many years ago." 

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elBewheio) bad 
•rigioally more of the ballad simplicity, via. 

** When all was wrapt in dark midnight. 
And all were fast asleep," &c. 

'TwAS at the silent, solemn hour, 

When night and morning meet ; 
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost. 

And stood at William's feet. 

Her faoe was like an April mom 6 

Clad in a wintry oloud ; 
And clay-cold was her lily hand 

That held her sable shrowd. 

80 shall the fairest faoe appear, 

When youth and years are flown ; 10 

Such is the robe that kings must wear. 

When death has reft their crown. 

Her bloom was like the springing flower, 

That sips the silver dew ; 
The rose was budded in her cheek ; 15 

Just opening to the view. 

But love had, like the canker-worm, 

Consum'd her early prime : 
The rose grew pale and left her cheek ; 

She dy*d before her time. 20 

" Awake I " she ory'd, " thy true love calls, 

Come from her midnight grave ; 
Now let thy pity hear the maid 

Thy love refus'd to save. 

*^ This is the dark and dreary hour 26 

When injur'd ghosts complain ; 
Now yawning graves give up their dead. 

To haunt the faithless swain. 

« Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 

Thy pledge and broken oath ; 30 

And give me back my maiden vow. 
And give me back my troth. 



MABOABET*S GHOST. 889 

" Why did you promise love to me, 

And not that promise keep ? 
Why did you swear mine eyes were bright, 85 

Tet leave those eyes to weep ? 

'' How could you say my faoe was fair. 

And yet that face forsake ? 
How could you win my virgin heart, 

Tet leave that heart to break ? 40 

" Why did you say my lip was sweet. 

And made the scarlet pale ? 
And why did I, young witless maid. 

Believe the flattering tale ? 

'' That face, alas ! no more is fair ; 45 

These lips no longer red ; 
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death. 

And every charm is fled. 

** The hungry worm my sister is ; 

This winding-sheet 1 wear ; 50 

And cold and weary lasts our night. 

Till that last mom appear. 

** But hark ! the cock has wam'd me hence I 

A long and last adieu 1 
Come see, false man, how low she lies, 55 

Who dy'd for love of yon." 

The lark sung loud ; the morning smil'a 

With beams of rosy red ; 
Pale William shook in ev'ry limb. 

And raving left his bed. 60 

He hyed him to the fatal place 

Where Margaret's body lay. 
And streteh'd him on the grass-green turf. 

That wrapt her breathless clay ; 

And thrioe he call'd on Margaret's name^ 65 

And thrice he wept full sore ; 
Then laid his cheek to her cold grave. 

And word spake never more. 

s 2 



840 LUOT AND OOLDT. 

•»• In a late publication, entitled, The Friend$, Ac. Ijond. 177S, 2 
volrt. rimo (In the first volume), is inserted a copy of the foregoing 
iMlliid, with very great variationa, which the editor of that work con- 
tends was the orixinul ; and that Mallet adopted it for his own, and 
altered it, as here given. But the superior beauty and simplicity of 
tlu; present copy gives it so much more the air of an original, that it 
will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet^s, 
and aditpted the lines to his own taste ; than whidi nothing is mora 
common in popular songs and ballads. 



XVIL 
luc$ aviti Colin 

Was written by Thomas Tickell, Esq., the celebrated firiend of Mr. 
Addison, and editor of his works. He was son of a clergyman in ths 
North of England ; had his education at Queen's College, Oxon. ; was 
undor-secretary to Mr. Addison and Mr. Craggs, when successively 
secretaries of state : and was lastly (in June, 1724) appointed secretary 
tci the Lords Justices in Ireland, which place he held till his death in 
1740. He acquired Mr. Addison's patronage by a poem in praise of the 
opera of Botamond^ written while he was at the University. 

It is a tradition in Ireland, that this song was written at Oastletown, 
In the county of Kildare, at the request of the then Mrs. GonoUy,— 
probably on some event recent in that neighbourhood. 

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fadr^ 

Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
Nor e'er did Liflfy*s limpid stream 

Beflect so fSsdr a face, 

Till luckless love and pining care 6 

Impair'd her rosy hue, 
Her coral lip, and damask cheeki 

And eyes of glossy blue. 
Oil t have you seen a lily pale, 

When beating rains descend ? IQ 

So droop'd the dow-consuming maid ; 

Her Hfe now near its end. 

By Lucy wam'd, of flattering swains 

Take heed, ye easy fait ! 
Of vengeance due to broken vows, IB 

Ye perjured swains, beware t 



LUOT AND OOLIK. 841 

Throe times, all in the dead of night, 

A bell was heard to ring ; 
And at her window, shrieking thrice, 

The raven flap'd his wing. 20 

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 

That solemn boding sound ; 
And thus, in dying words, bespoke 

The virgins weeping round. 

" I hear a voice you cannot hear, 26 

Which says, I must not stay ; 
I see a hand you cannot see. 

Which beckons me away. 

" By a false heart and broken vows, 

In early youth, I die. 80 

Am I to blame, because his bride 

Is thrice as rich as I ? 

" Ah, Colin ! give not her thy vows, 

Vows due to me alone 
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, 85 

Nor think him all thy own. 

" To-morrow in the church to wed. 

Impatient, both prepare ; 
But Imow, fond maid, and know, false man, 

That Lucy will be there. 40 

" Then bear my corse, ye comrades, boar, 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his weddingrtrim so gay, 

I in my winding-sheet." 

She spoke, she died ; — her corse was borne, 45 

The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
He in his wedding-trim so gay. 

She in her winding-sheet. 

Then what were perjur'd Oolin's thoughts ? 

How were those nuptials kept ? 60 

The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead, 

And all the village wept. 



342 THX BOT AHD TRS HAHTIA. 

Confusion, sbame, remone, despur. 

At once his bosom swell ; 
The damps of death bedew'd his brow, 55 

Ho shook, he groan'd, he felL 

From the yain bride (ah, bride no mare !) 

Tlie yarying crimson fled. 
When, stretch'd before her rival's oorae^ 

She saw her husband dead. 60 

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 

Convey'd by trembling swains, 
One mould with her, beneath one Bod, 

For ever now remains. 

Oft at their grave the constant hind 65 

And plighted maid are seen ; 
With garlands gay and true-love knots 

TLey deck the sacred green. 

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art. 

This hallowed spot forbear ; 70 

Eemember Colin's dreadful fate. 
And fear to meet him there. 



XVIIL 
Vt^t So^ aM l^t jKantle. 

AS BBVI8ED AND ALTERED BT A VGDZBJX HAin>.* 

llr. Warton, in his ingenious observations on Spenser, has given his 
Guinion, that the fiction of the Boy and the Mantle is taken from an 
old French piece entitled, Le Court Mantel^ quoted by M. de St. Palaye, 
in his curious " Memoires sur Pancienne Chevalerie,** Paris, 1759, 2 
torn. L2mo ; who tells us the story resembles that of Arioeto's enchanted 
cup. *Tis possible our English poet may have taken the hint of this 
sufnect from that old French romance ; but he does not appear to have 
copied it in the manner of execution : to which (if one may judge from 
the specimen given in the Memoires) that of the ballad does not bear 
the least resemblance. After all, 'tis most likely that all the old 

> Thtt " modern band " was Percy's. — Editor, 



TttS BOT AND THX VANTLB. 34^ 

stories concerning King Arthur are originally of British growth ; and 
that what the French and other soutbern nations have of this kind 
were at first exported from this island. See Memoires de I'Acad. des 
Inscrip. torn. xx. p. 352. 

In the FahUaux ou Conies, 1781, 5 torn. 12mo, of M. Le Grand (torn. 
i. p. 54), is printed a modem version of the old tale Le Court Mantel^ 
onder a now title, Le Manteau maltaUUy which contains the story of 
this ballad much enlarged, ho far as regards the manUe, but without 
any mention of the krUfe or the horn* 

In Carleile dwelt King Arthur, 

A prince of passing might ; 
And there maintained his Table Bound, 

Beset with many a knight. 

And there he kept his Christmas 5 

With mirth and princely cheare, 

When, lo ! a straunge and cunning boy 
Before him did appeare. 

A kirtle and a mantle 

This boy had him upon, 10 

With brooches, rings, and owcheB^ 

Full daintily bedone. 

He had a sarke of silk 

About his middle meet ; 
And thus with seemely curtesy, 15 

He did King Arthur greet. 

" God speed thee, brave King Arthur, 

Thus feasting in thy bowre ; 
And Guenever Uiy goodly queen. 

That fair and peerlesse flowre. 20 

^ Te gallant lords, and lordings, 

1 wish you all take heed. 
Lest, what ye deem a blooming rose 

Should prove a cankred weecL'' 

Then straitway from his boAome 26 

A little wand he drew ; 
And with it eke a mantle 

Of wondrous shape and hew. 



t44 TEE BOT AHD THS MASCLB. 

** Now luiTe ihoQ here. King Axthiir, 

HaTo this here of mee, SO 

And give unto thj comelj qneeOy 
All-fihapen as yon see 

'* Xo wife it shall beoome. 

That once hath been to blame." 

Then eyery knight in Arthnr's oom ' 36 

Slje glaonced at his dame. 

Aod first came Lady Qaenever, 

The mantle she most trye : 
This dame, she was new-fangled. 

And of a roving eye. 40 

When she had tane the mantle. 

And all was with it cladde. 
From top to toe it shiyer'd down. 

As tho' with sheers beshradde. 

One while it was too long, 45 

Another while too short, 
And wrinkled on her shoolders 

In most unseemly sort. 

Now green, now red it seemed, 

Then all of sable hne : 50 

** Beshrew me," quoth King Arthnx 

'* I think thou beest not iame.** 

i)own she threw the mantle, 

No longer would not stay ; 
But storming like a fury, 55 

To her chamber flung away. 

She curst the whoreson weaver, 

Tliat had the mantle wrought : 
And doubly curst the froward impe, 

Who thither had it brought. 60 

** I had rather live in desarts. 

Beneath the green-wood tree, 
Than hero, base king, among thy groomes, 

The sport of them and thee." 



] 



THB BOY AND THE MANTUL 845 

Sir Kay call'd forth his lady, 65 

And bade her to come near : 
" Yet, dame, if thou be guilty, 

1 pray thee now forbear." 

This lady, pertly gigling. 

With forward step came on, 70 

And boldly to the little boy 

With fearless face is gone. 

When she had tane the mantle. 

With purpose for to wear, 
It shrunk up to her shoulder, 75 

And left her b**side bare. 

Then every merry Imight, 

That was in Arthur's court, 
Gib'd, and laught, and flouted, 

To see that pleasant sport. 80 

Downe she threw the mantle. 

No longer bold or gay, 
But with a face all pale and wan, 

To her chamber dunk away. 

Then forth came an old knight, 85 

A pattering o'er his creed, 
And proffer'd to the little boy 

Five nobles to his meed ; 

^' And all the time of Christmass 

Plumb-porridge shall be thine, 90 

If thou wilt let my lady fair 

Within the mantle shine." 

A saint his lady seemed. 

With step demure and slow, « 

And gravely to the mantle 95 

With mincing pace doth goo. 

When she the same had taken. 

That was so fine and thin, 
It shrivell'd all about her, 

And show'd her dainty skin. ]00 



M6 Tm BOT AND THX MANTLB. 

Ah t little did hxb mincing, 

Or HI8 long prayers best^id ; 
She had no more hung on her. 

Than a taesel and a thread. 

Down she threwe the mantle, 1(^ 

With terror and dismay, 
And, with a face of scarlet. 

To her chamber hyed away. 

Sir Cittdock call'd his lady, 

And bade her to come neare ; 110 

'* Come win this mantle, lady, 

And do me credit here. 

" Come win this mantle, lady. 

For now it shall be thine, 
If thou hast never done amiss, 115 

Siih first I made thee mine.** 

The lady gently blushing, 

With modest grace came on, , 

And now to try the wondrous charm 

Courageously is gone. 120 

When she had tane the mantle, 

And put it on her backe, 
About the hem it seemed 

To wrinkle and to cracke. 

" Lye still," shoe cryed, ** mantle I 125 

And shame me not for nought, 
m freely own whatever amiss, 

Or blameful I have wrought. 

« Once I kist Sir Cradocke 

Beneathe the green- wood tree : 130 

Once I kist Sir Cradocke's mouth 

Before he married mea" 

When thus she had her shnVen, 

And her worst fault had told, 
The mantle soon became her 135 

Bight comely as it shold. 



TBI BOT AND THS MANTLB. 347 

Most rich and fair of colour, 

Like gold it glittering shone : 
And mnch the lights in Arthur's court 

Admir'd her every one. 140 

Then towards King Arthur's table 

The boy he turned his eye ; 
Where stood a boar's head garnished 

With bayes and rosemarye. 

When thrice he o'er the boar's head 145 

His little wand had drawne, 
Quoth he, '* There's never a cuckold's knife 

Can carve this head of brawne.'* 

Then some their whittles rubbed 

On whetstone, and on hone : 150 

Some threwe them under the table, 

And swore that they had none. 

Sir Cradock had a little knife, 

Of steel and iron made ; 
And in an instant thro' the skull 155 

He thrust the shining blade. 

He thrust the shining blade 

Full easily and fast ; 
And every knight in Arthur's court 

A morsel had to taste. 160 

The boy brought forth a home, 

All golden was the rim : 
Said he, '* No cuckold ever can 

Set mouth unto the brim. 

'' No cuckold can this little home 165 

Lift 1 airly to his head ; 
But or on this, or that side, 

He shall the liquor shed." 

Some shed it on their shoulder. 

Some shed it on their thigh ; 170 

And hee that could not hit his mouth. 

Was sure to hit hiB eye. 



MA 



Tin BOT *TD THV MJkJm^, 

Til HA ht: that wan ft cni^kft'LL 

Wam known of ev^trj xmui : 
Lut f.'nilirf k Ltsai f-Mily. ^73 

Anil wan tbt; grUiien can. 

Thnii iMar'ii hf-ai], horn and mnrtrjf ^^ 

Wf-rf: tliiM fair Cfjuplt^'s znetrd: 
AnrJ all fkiir.h roDfltALt L/vera. 

(«(m1 m:ii(1 them well to apeeL l^Q 

Thf'ii fifiwn in ra(;e came Gnenever 

And thfiN oiild Npightfnl saj : 
" Sir < 'nulixrk'K wife most wrongfallj* 

Hath Utrub the prize awaj. 

** Hf'O yoiiflftr h]ianiolc88 woman, 195 

That niiikcH herHclfc so clean : 
Yit friiiii her pillow taken 

Thri(^) firo gallants haTC been. 

*' I'rifwUi, darken, and wedded men, 

lluvn hor lewd pillow prest : 190 

Yet hIu) thn wondrous prize forROoth 

Must boaro from all the rest" 

Tliim iM^Himko the little boy, 

Who hiul the samo in hold : 
** ChaHiizo thy wife, King Arthnr, 195 

Of Hi)ooch she is too bold : 

" Of RiHMH'.h she is too bold, 

Of oarriago all too free ; 
Sir King, shu hath within thy haU 

A cuckold made of thea 200 

" All frolick light and w;^ 

8ho hath her cairi^gf ^!l^^ 
And given thee fi>r a kmglj c^own 

To wear a cuckoM'8 homo. 



* 




brtt i» related in iome of the old Welflli aiBO. ot j oKiin Karf ron, oue 
f KinK Arthur's mistretses. She is said to hiivo pOti»esBed a mantle 



THE MABBIAGE OF SIB GAWAINE, 349 

that \vould not fit any immodest or incontinent woman ; this (which, 
the old writers say, was reckoned among the curiotiities of Britain; is 
frequently alluded to by the old Welsh bards. 

Carleile, so often mentioned in the ballads of King Arthur, the 
Elditor once thought might probably be a corruption of Caer-leon, an 
ancient British city on the river Uske, in Monmouthshire, which was 
one of the places of King Arthur's chief residence : but he is now con- 
vinced that it is no other than Carlisle, in Cumberland ; the old English 
Minstrels, being most of them northern men, naturally represented the 
hero of romance as residing in the north : and many of the places 
mentioned in the old balla(k are still to be found there ; as Teame- 
Wadling, &c. 

Near Penrith is still seen a large circle, surrounded by a mound of 
earth, which retains the name of Arthur's Bound Table. 



XIX. 



THE ANCIENT FBAGMENT OF 

C|)e jHamase of Sir dabatne.^ 

The second poem in book vii., entitled, The Mairiage of Sir Qatoame, 
having been offered to the reader with large conjectural supplements 
and corrections, the old fragment itself is here literally and exactly 
printed from the Editor's folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, 
and errata : that such austere antiquaries as complain that the ancient 
copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for 
publication many of the pieces would have been if all the blunders, 
corruptions, and nonsense of illiterate reciters and transcribers had 
been superstitiously retained, without some attempt to correct and 
amend them. 

This ballad has most unfortunately suffered by having half of every 
leaf in this part of the MS. torn away ; and, as about nine stanzas 
generally occur in the half-page now remaining, it is concluded that 
the other half contained nearly the same number of stanzas. 

KiNGE Abthtjr lines in merry Carleile, 
& seemely is to see, 

& there he hath w*** him Qqueeno Gonev', 
thai bride soe bright of blee. 

* The text of this poem has been carefully revised by companson with 
Percv's Folio Manuscript, as edited by Messrs. Hules and FiimiTaU.«>« 
Iditor. 



950 THX ANOISNT FRAGMKNT 07 

And there he hath w*** him Queeue Gene?er, 
that bride soe bright in bower, 
A all hid barons about him stoode 
thai were both stiffe and Btowre. 



The EL. kept a rojall Christmasse 
of mirth & great honor, 
. k . when . . 

[About nine tilaiuas wanHmg,'] 



And bring me word what thing it is 
that a woman most desire, 
this shalbe thy ransome, Arthur, he sayee, 
for lie haue noe other hier. 



K. Arthur then held vp his hand 
according tbene as was the law ; 
he tooke his leaue of the baron there, 
k homward can he draw. 



And when he came to Merry Carlile, 
to hid chamber he is gone, 
k ther came to him his Cozen S' Gawaine 
as he did make his mone. 



And there came to him his cozen S' Gawaiue, 
that was a curteous knight, 
why sigh you soe sore, vnckle Arthur, he wM^ 
or who hath done thee vnright ? 



O peace, O peace, thou gentle Ghtwaine, 
that faire may thee be ffill, 
for if thou knew my sighing soe deepe, 
thou wold not meruaile att all ; 



ffor when I came to teame wadling, 
a bold b<irron there I fand, 
w*^ a great club vpon his backe, 
standing stiffe and strong ; 



And he asked me wether I wold figb^ 
or from him I ^old be gone, 
o* else I must him a ransome pay 
k soe depart him from. 

« Sic. 



THB HABBIAQE OF BIB GAWAINIB. 85i 

To fight w*** liim I saw noe cause, 
me thought it was not meet, 
for he was stiflfe & strong w*'*»all, 
his strokes were uothing sweete ; 



Therefor this is my ransoma; Gkiwaine, 
I ought to him to pay, 
I must come againe, as I am swome, 
vpon the Newyeers day. 



And I must bring him word wh^t thing it is 

lAbout nine Stanau UfanHng.\ 



Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde 
in one soe rich array 
toward tlie foresaid Tcame wadling, 
that he might keepe his day. 



And as he rode over a more, 
hee see a lady where shee sate 
betwixt an oke & a greene hollen : 
She was cladd in red Scarlett. 



Then there as shold haue stood her mouth, 
then there was sett her eye, 
the other was in her forhead fiist 
the way that she might see. ■ 



Her noi-e was crooked & tumd outwaid, 
her mouth stood foule a-wry ; 
a worse formed lady than shee was, 
neuerman saw w^ his eye. 



To halch vpon him, E. Arthur, 
this lady was full fuine, 
but K. Arthur had forgott his lesson, 
Vrhat he shold say againe. 



What knight art thou, the lady sayd, 
t'liat wilt not speak tome ? 
Of me be thou nothing dlsmayd 
tho I be Ygly to see ; 



for I hane halched you ourteouslye^ 
& you will not me againe, 
yett I may happen 8' Knight, shee tMf 
%Q ease thee of thy paine. 



863 THE ANOIBNT FBAOHENT OF 

Giue thou ease me, lady, he said, 

or helpe me any thing, 

thou Shalt haue gtntle Gawaine, my oozen, 

A marry him w*^ a ring. 



Why, if I help thee not, thou noble K. Arthur, 
Of thy owne hefurts desiringe, 

of gentle Gawaine 

lAhotU nine StaniOB wa9iHng,\ 



And when he came to the tearne wadling 
the baron there cold be fimde, 
w*^ a great weapon on his backe, 
standing stiffe and strouge. 



And then he tooke K. Arthurs letters in his hands 

A away he cold them fling, 

& then he puld out a good browne sword, 

& oryd himselfe a K. 



And he sayd, I liaue thee & thy land, Arthur, 

to doe as it pleaseth me, 

for this is not thy ransoroe sure, 

therfore yeeld thee to me. 



And then bespoke him Noble Arthur, 
& bad him hold his hand, 
& give me leaue to speake my mind 
in defence of all my land. 



He said as I came over a More, 
I see a lady where shee sate 
betweene an oke & a green hollen ; 
shee was clad in red scarlett ; 



And sho says a woman will haue her will, 
& this is all her cheef desire : 
doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill, 
this is thy ransome & all thy hyer. 



He sayes an early yengeance light on her I 
she walkes on yonder more ; 
it was my sister that told tiiee this ; 
& she is a misshappen hore I 



But heer He make mine avow to god 
to doe her an euill tume, 
for an euer I may thate fowle theefe get 
in a fyer I will her bume. 

[Abimt mne Stanuu teantu^,'} 



THE MARBIAaX OF SIB QAWAINS. 86^ 

THE SECOND PART. 

Bib : Lanoelott & S" Steven bold 
tfiey rode w*^ them that day, 
and the formost of the company 
there rode the steward Kay 



Soe did S' Banier and S' Bore, 
S' Garrett w*** them soe gay, 
soe did S" Tristeram thai gentle k 
to the forrest fresh and gay. 



And when he came to the greene !brrest» 
yndemeath a greene holly tree 
their sate that lady in red scarlet 
that Yuseemly was to see. 



S" Kay beheld this Ladys face, 
& looked vppon her smire,' 
whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sayes 
of his kisse he stands in feare. 



S' Kay beheld the lady againe, 
& looked vpon her snout, 
whosoeuer kisses this lady, he sales 
of his kisse he stands in doubt. 



Peace coz. Kay, then said S' Gawaine, 
amend thee of thy life ; 
for there is a knight amongst yb all 
that must marry her to his wife. 



What I wedd her to wiffel then said S' Kay, 

in the diuells name anon, 

gett me a wiffe whereere I may, 

for I had rather be shaine 1* 

Then some tooke vp their hawkes in hast, 
& some tooke yp their hounds, 
& some sware they wold not murj her 
For Citty nor for towne. 



And then be-spake him Noble k. Arthur, 

& sware there oy this day, 

for a little foule sight ft mislikfag 

[About nine Stanzas vwMiig, 

* ? Swire is neck. 

* ? For shent, slaine or shamsd. 

2 ▲ 



8M TBM AKOUNT tbagmsiit ov 

Then shee said, ohooee thee, 8:entle Gawaine 
truth 88 I doe say, 

wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesae 
in the night or else in the day 



And then beepake him G^tle Gh^waine^ 
w*** one soe mild of Moode, 
sayes, well I know what I wold say, 
god grant it may be good I 



To hane thee fowle in the night 
when I w*** thee shold play ; 
yet I had rather, if I might, 
hane thee fowle in the day. 



What 1 when Lords goe w^ ther seires,* shee wM^ 

both to the Ale & wine ; 

alas ! then I must hyde my selfe, 

I mnst not goe withinne. 



And then bespake him gentle gawaine^ 
said, Lady, thats bnt a skill *; 
And because thou art my owne lady. 
Thou shalt haue all thy will. 



Then she said, blesed be thou gentle GawaiOy 

this day that I thee see, 

For as thou see me att this time, 

from hencforth I wilbe : 



My father was an old knight, 
& yett it chanced soe 
that he marryed a younge lady 
tJiai brought me to this woe. 



Shee witched me, being a faire young Lady, 
to the greene forrest to dwell, 
& there I must walke in womans liknesse, 
Most like a feend of hell. 



She witched my brother to a Oarlist B • . « . 

lAhout nine ^anea$ wamikig^ 

that looked soe foule, & that was wont 
on the wUd more to goe. 

* Sic in MS. pro feires, i, e, mates. 

* ? reason, feint, pretence. 



THE MABBIAOE OF SIB GAWAINB. 865 

dome kisse her, Brother Kay, then said S' Gawaine^ 

& amend the of thy liffe ; 

I sweare this is the same lady 

f^t I marryed to my wiffe. 



&' Kay kissed that lady bright, 
standing ypon his ffeete ; 
he swore, as he was trew knight, 
the spice was neuer soe sweete. 



Well, Ooz. Gawaine, sayes 8' Kay, 

thy chance is fallen arright, 

for thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids 

I euer saw w*** my sight. 



It is my fortune, said S' Grawaine ; 
for my nnckle Arthurs sake 
I am glad as grasse wold be of laine, 
great Joy that I may take. 



S' Gawaine tooke the lady by the one 
S' Kay tooke her by the tother, 
tiiey led her straight to K. Arthur 
as &ej were brother & brother. 



K. Arthur welcomed them there all, 
& soe did lady Geneuer his queene. 
w^ all the knights of the round taole 
most seemly to be seene. 



E. Arthur beheld that lady &ire 
that was aoe faire and bright, 
he thanked ohrist in trinity 
for S' Gawaine that gentle knight ; 



Soe did the knights, both more and lesse, 
reioyced all that day 
for the good chance Hhai hapened was 
to S' Gawaine & his lady gay. fiSns. 



am) OF THB SECOND YOLUMX, 



2 A 



f 857 ) 



GLOSSARY, 



A', an, all 

A deid of nioht, in dead cf night. 

A Twyde, of Tweed, 

Abeu^e, hack, 

Abone, abooD, aboone, above, 

Aboven ous, above us, 

Abowght, about. 

Abraide, abroad, 

Abye, suffer y to pay for. 

Acton, a kind of armour of tafaty, 

or leather quilted. Fr. • Hacqueton.* 
Advoutry, advoutrona, aduUery, 

advUerous. 
AS, off. 
Afore, before. 
Aft, oft. 

Agayue, against. 
Agoe, gone. 
Ahte, ought. 
Aik, oak. 

Ain, awin, awne, own, 
Aith, oath. 
Al, albeit, although, 
Alemaigne, Crermany. 
Alyes, probable corruption ofatgaies, 

always. 
Algife, although, 
A-late, of late. 
An, and. 

Ancient, ancyent, flag, standard, 
Ane, one ; an, a. 
Angel, gold coin worth XOs. 
Ann, if; even^ if. 
Ant, and, 
Aplyght, aplyht, al aplyht, quite 

complete. 



Aquoy, coy, shy. 
Aras, arros, arrows, 
Aroir, archer, 

Argabushe, haa-qwbusse, miitM 
Ase, as, 

Assinde, assigned, 
Aasoyrd, assoyled, absolved. 
Astate, estate ; a great portion. 
Abtonied, astonished^ stunned. 
Astound, confounded, stunned, 
Ath, athe, o*th, of the. 
Attowre, out over, over and aboMm 
Anld, old. 
Aule, awL 
Aureat, golden. 
Austeme, stem^ austere, 
Avowe, vow, 
Avoyd, void, vacate, 
Awa*, away, 
Awne, own. 
Axed, a^ked. 
Ayance, against. 
Aye, efver ; also, ah I alas I 
Azein, agein, against. 
Azont, beyond; azont the inglfl^ 
beyond the fire: ^ 



Ba', baU, 

Bacheleere, knight. 

Baile, bale, evil, hurt, mischiefs 

misery. 
Balrded, bearded. 
Bairn, baime, child, 
Baith, bathe, both. 
Bale, hurt, etc. See Baile. 



' In the west of Scotland, at this present time, in many cottages they pik 
Iheii peats and turfs npon stones in the middle of the room. 



858 



GLOSSABT. 



Balow, hush! luUaby! 

BalyH bete, better our balei, i, e, re- 
medy our evils. 

Ikiu, banDing, cur$e, eurting. 

B)iiid, bondj covenant. 

BAoderoUs, etreamerSj little flag$, 

Bano« bone, 

Bar, bore. 

Bar hed, barehead ; perhaps bared, 

Barao (A.-Sax. beom) chief, man, 

Barrow-hoggo, gelded hog. 

Base court, lower court of a castle, 

Basnete, basDite, basnyte, bassonet, 
bussonette, helmet. 

Bason. See Basnete. 

Battes, heavy stickSy dubs. 

Baud, bold. 

Bauzen's skinne, dressed sheep or 
badger leather, Bauzon mittens. 

Bayard, noted blind horse in Hie old 
roinances. 

Be, by ; &e thaty by Hiat time. 

Beam. See Bairn. 

Bearyng arowe, an arrow that car- 
ries voell. Perhaps bearing^ or 
birring ; i. e. whizzing. 

Bed, bade, 

Bede, ojfer, engage, 

Bedeene, immediately ; continwmslyi 

Bedigbt, bedecked, 

Bedone, wrought, made up, 

Bedyls, beadles, 

Beere, bier. 

Bees, to have bees, to be cholerie. 

Beette, did beat, 

BefaU, befallen, 

Befoir, before, 

Befom, before, 

Begylde, beguiled, deceived, 

Beheard, heard. 

Behests, commands^ injwMsHona. 

Behove, behoof, 

Belive, immediately, presently, 

Belyfe. See Belive. 

Ben, bene, been ; be, are, 

• Mr. Lambe also interprets " Bickering," by rattling, e, g, ; 
*' And on that slee Ulysses head 
Sad enrses down does bicker." 

Translat. of (ML 



Ben, wWiindoon; ihe inner room- 

Bende-bow, bent bow. 

Bene, bean, expreenon of oontempL 

Benison, blessing. 

Bent, long grass; wHd fields, 

Benynge, benigne ; benign^ kind, 

Beoth, be, are. 

Beret h, beareth. Ber the prys, baa* 

the prize, Berys, beareth, 
Berne. See Barne. 
Bemes, bams, 
Beseeme, become, 
Beshradde, out into shreds, 
Beshrew me I WecOc imjpreeatum 
Besmirche, to soil, diseoUmr, 
Besprent, besprinkled. 
Beste, beest, art. 
Bested, abode, 
Bestis, beasts. 

Bet, better, Bett, did beat, 
Beth, be, are. 

Bewray, to discover, betray, 
Bi mi leaut^ by my loyalty, honestw, 
Bickarte, bicker'd, skirmished ; alsO) 

swiftly coursed.* 
Bille, promise in writing, cof^firmed 

by an oath, 
Birk, birch-tree. 

Blan, blanne, did blin, linger, eUm, 
Blaw, blow. 

Blaze, emblazon, display, 
Blee, complexion, colour, 
Bleidjblede, bleed. 
Blent, ceased; blended. 
Blink, glimpse of light. 
Blinkan, blinkand, twinkUng, 
Blinking, squinting. 
Blinks, tmnkles, sparkles, 
Blinne, cease, give over, 
Bllst, blessed, 

Blive, believe, immediately. 
Bloomed, beset with bloom, 
Blude, blood. 

Bluid, bluidy, blood, bloody, 
Blyth blithe, sprightly, jay<m$^ 



GLOSBABT. 



859 



Blyih,joyy tpriahUiness, 

Blyve. aee Bwive. 

Boare, hare. 

Bode, abode, stayed, 

Boist, boisteris, boosts boasters, 

Boke, book, 

BoUys, bowls, 

Boltes, shafts^ arrovje, 

Bomen, botomen, 

Bonniej bonny, bonnye, eomdy. 

Bonys, bones, 

Bookesman, cHerh^ secretary. 

Boon, boonOf/avour, request, petition. 

Boot, boote, gain, advantage^ help. 

Bore, bom. 

Borowe, to redeem by a pledge. 

Borowed, warranted, pledged for, 

rWjrrowe, borowe, pledge, security. 

Bot, btit ; both, besides, moreover. 

Hot, witJunU; Bot dreid, i. e. cer^ 

tairdy. 
Bote. See Boote. 
Bougil, bougill, biigle, liom, 
Bounde, bowynd, liowned, prepared, 

got ready; also, went, or was 

going. 
Bower, bowre, arched room, dwelling, 
Bowr© woman, chamber-mqid, 
Bownedes, bounds. 
Bowne, ready, prepared ; also, loenL 
Bowys, bows. 
Brade, braid, broad. 
Braes, brow, or side of a htU, Braes 

of Yarrow, hiUy bariks of the 

Yarrow, 
Braid, broad, 
Bralfly, bravely. 
Brakes, tufts of fern. 
Brande, bronde, sword, 
Brast, burst, 
Braw, brave, 
Brayd, arose, hastened, 
Brayd attowre the beat, hastened 

over the field. 



Brayde, drew out unsheathed* 

Bred, brede, broad. 

Breech, breeches, 

Breeden bale, breed mischief, 

Breere, brere, briar, 

Breng, bryng, bring, 

Brenn, to burn ; Brenand drake, th$ 

fire-drake, huming-enibers. 
Brether, brethren. 
Bridal (bride-ale), nuptial feast, 
Brigue, brigg, bridge. 
Brimme, public, universally known* 
Britled, carved. 

Broad arrow, broad-headed arrow, 
Brocht, brought. 
Brodinge, pricking, 
Brooche, a spit, bodkin^ omamenUd 

trinket, a dasp. 
Brook, enjoy. 
Brooke, bear, endure. 
Brouohe. See Brooche. 
Brouke hur wyth Wynne, er^oy her 

with pleasure, 
Browd, broad. 
Brozt, brought. 
Bryttlynge, brytlyng, cutting up^ 

quartering, carving. 
Buen, bueth, been, be, are. 
Bugle, hunting-horn, 
Bu&, book. 

Burgeus, buds, young shoots. 
Burn, bourne, brook, 
Bushment, ambush, snare. 
Busk, dress, deck. Busk and bomiy 

make yourselves ready and go, 
Buska Idem. 
Busket, buskt, dressed. 
But, without. Butt* 
But if, unless. 
But let, without hindrance, 
Bute, boot, advantage, 
Buttes, buts to shoot <U, 
By thre, of three. 
Bydys, bides, abide. 



* " But o' house " m«ans the outer part of the house, outer room, yis. that 
part of the house into which you first enter, suppose from the street. ** Ben 
o' house ** ia the inner room or more retired part of the house. The daughter 
did not lie out of doors. The cottagers often desire their landlords to build 
them a Bur and a Ben. — ^Mr. Lambe. 



860 



0L0881BT. 



Bye, 6iiy, pay for ; abo, aliye, m^er 

for- 
Byears, hfen. 

By 11, hiU, ancient hatiU-axe, halbert 
Byn, bine, bin, been, be, are, 
Byrcke, birch-tree, or wood. 
Byre, a cow-houee, 
Byste, beest, art. 



Ca», call 

(Jadgily, mefT%, eheerfvXIy, 

Caitiff, s/ave. 

Culde, callyd, called. 

€aliver, frin^l 0/ mu«bft< 

Cnia, *g»n, began, fte^ai* to cry. 
Can cmteayc^ understand good man- 

nets. 
Cane, *gan to cry. 
Ounnii, <^anw>L 

Guutabauqui, hallad singeru. 

CaTitlef ^ pieces, comerB. 

Cantv^ chasrful, vhattp. 

GaimX CApull, a poor horse, 

Care-bcil, bed o/eare. 

Carle, a cAwW, clown ; also, oW tikWi. 

Carlisb, churlish^ discourteous, 

CeLTliue, feminine of Carle. 

Carpe, to epeak, recite ; censure, 

Carpe off care, oompUUn thro* care. 

Carping, reciting. 

Cftstj mean^ ifii€7it, 

Cau, ntU. 

Cam lie, tnixture of tnne, 

Cauld, cold. 

Cawte and kene, cautious and tic- 

tive. 
Caytiffe, caitij^, dave, wretch. 
Certes, ceriamly. 
Cetlwall, the hsrh valerian, 
Cliautf^lere, the €Och. 
Chrip, a lenonh. 
C bay file, Cain. 
ChayH, (:Aage. 
Che {Soifieraet)j L 
Cbeok, to rats at. 
Check, to stop, 
Cheis, choose. 



Chevaliers, kni^Us, 

Chevcran, upper part of ike KmtAdim 

in heraldry, 
ChieXd, fellow. 
Child, knight. 
Chm {Qom.), I foUL 
Chtiuld K Som.), J ti^&uld, 
Chxiritenlie, c!brisi^iitye,cbTi£tiBJit^ 

Clirifiiendom. 
Churoh-ab, a wake ; feast in 00m- 

m^iiKW-ct/mri of a ^'hurch^dediGolioa* 
ChTirl, down^ mliafn^ t?aseal. 
Cb yf, chyfe, chi&f, 
Cliyhled, ttvji delivered. 
Chylder, children, 
Cbyn, ehin. 
Cljtitha, chthes. 
CI at i^ red, b&at »o an to rut f Is. 
OUwd«, {flawed, tore, scratched, 
Clcod, chihed. Cleading, dMing, 
ClDtipisd, isiUedy named, 
Cled, clmh 
Clepe, caU. 

Clerke, scholar, cUrgyinan, 
eliding, clothing. 
CliiiJ, mutrai'tian of Clemcni, 
Ciou^ii, a broken cUjf, 
Ck)Wcb, pliUck, grasp, 
Clynklng, cUnkmg^jingUTig. 
Coate, cot, cottage. 
Cockers, short boots worn by s kq^ 

herds. 
Cog, to lye, to cheai. 
C'tiiorted, incited^ eschorted. 
Cokency, cook, Lat. aoquinator. 
Cold, coujd^ knew. 
Cold be, was. 

Cold Kibt, nothing to Uie purpose, 
Coleyue, cullayne, Cologne sted. 
Com, came. CemmeUj oommyB, 

come. 
Con, can, *gan, began. 
Can fiijo, v^enU paused. 
Oni tliatiks, mith thanks. 
CoTi BpriugG, sprjiitg. 
Cnnfetert'd, confederated. 
Coiste, c4mL 

Cop, head ; top of anything, 
Cordiwin, Cordwayne, Cotdovtm 

leather. 



^ 



OioaautT. 



861 



Gorsftire, eowrser, gML 

Gost, eoaslj $ide, 

Gote, cot, cottage ; coat, 

Cotydyallye, daily ^ every day. 

Collide, could, cold ; could. 

Coald bear, hare. 

Gould oreip, erepi, 

Gould bis good, "knew what vsae 

good for him ; could Uw upon hU 

own, 
Gould say, said, 
Gould weip, wept, 
Gounsayl, tsecret, 
Gountie, comd^ earl. 
Coupe, pen for poultry, 
Gourtnalls, note page 234. 
Couth, cotild. 
Gouthen, knew, 
Govetise, covetotisnees. 
Coyntrie. Coventry. 
Cramasie. crimson. 
Crancky, merry, exvUing, 
Granion, skuU. 
Crech, cnUchea. 
Credence, belief. 
Crevis, crevice, chink. 
Crinkle, run in and out, torinkle, 
Cristes corse, Christ's curse. 
Croft, indosure near a liouse, 
Croiz, cross, 

Cromplin^, crooked, knotty. 
Crook, tivist, distort ; lam/C 
Crouneth, crown ye. 
Grout, pucker up. 
Crowch, crutcHi, 
Oryance, belief; fear, 
Cule, cool. 
Cum, come, came. 
Cummer, gossip, friend. 
Cure, care, heed, regard, 

D. 

Dale, deal ; bot gif I dale, unless I 

deal. 
Dampned, damned, condenmed, 
Dan, ancient title of respect. 
Dank; moist, dump. 
Dansbj, Denmark, 
Darh, Hiere, 
J>osfd,hU. 



Dart, hit, 

DauMn, ditainutive of David, 

Daunger hault, coyness holdeHh. 

Dawes, days. 

De, dy, dey, die. 

Deadan, deland, dealing, 

Deare day, pleasant day, 

Deas, dais, high table in a haHL 

Dede is do, deed is done. 

Dee, die. 

Deed, dead. 

Deemed, doomed, Judged. 

Deepe, fette, deep, fetched, 

Deere, htirt, mischief. 

Deerely, precioudy. richly, 

Deerely aight, richly dressed* 

Deid, dead. 

Deid-bell, passing beU, 

DeiU, dally i 

Deimpt, deemed, esteemed. 

Deip, depe, deep. 

Deir, dear, hurt, trovble, distur:* 

Dele, deal. 

Dell, narrow valley, 

Dell, part, deal, 

Delt, deaU. 

Domains, demesnes, estatet. 

Deme, judged, 

Denay, deny. 

Dent, a dint, blow, 

Deol, dole, grief. 

Depured, purified, run dear, 

Deray, ruin, confusion, 

Dere, dear, hurt. 

Derked, darkened. 

Dem, secret ; F dem, in secret. 

Descreeve, descrive, deticrye, de* 

scribe. 
Devys, devise; bequeathment bgf 

will. 
Deze, deye, die. 

Dice, waved pattern on garments. 
Dight, diciit. derked, dressed, done. 
Dike, a wall, ditch. 
Dill, still, calm, mitigate, 
DiD, dole, grief, pain. Dill I dry^ 

pain I suffer. Dill was dlght| 

grief was upon him. 
Din. dinne, noise, busUe, 
Dine, dinner. 



862 



QL0B8ABT. 



DiDg, hnoek, heat 

Dint, stroke, blow, 

Dis, this. 

DiBoust, discussed, 

DisDa, does not. 

Distrere, horse rode by a knight in 

the tournament. 
Dites, dtUies. 
Dochter, daughter, 
Dois, days, does. 
Dol, grief. Dole. 

Dolenille dumps, heavine$8 of heart, 
Dolorus, dolorous. 
Don, doom. 

DoseDd, dosing, drowsy. 
Doth, dothe, doeth, do. 
Doublet, inner garment. 
Doubt, fear. 
Doubteous, doubtful, 
Doughte, dougheti, donghetie 

dowghtye, doughty, formidMe, 
Doughtiness of dent, sturdinets of 

blows. 
Dounae, am not Me; cannot take 

the trouble. 
Doute, doubt; fear. 
Doutted, doubted ; feared, 
Douzty, doughty. 
Dozter, daughter. 
Doz trogh, dough-trough, 
Drake. 8ee Brenand drake. 
Drap, drapping, drop, dropping, 
Dre, suffer. 

Dreid, dreede, drede, dread, 
Dreips, drips, drops, 
Dreiry, dreary, 
Drest, plunged, 
Drie, suffer, 

Drovyers, drovers, oatUe-drivers, 
Drowe, drew, 
Drye, suffer, 

* In the ballad of Sib Cauijne, we have <£ldridge Hill/ <£ldridge Knight, 
'Eldridge Sworde.' — So Gawin Douglas calls the Cyclops, the "Elbiohb 
Brethir," i. e. brethren (b. ii. p. 91, 1. 16); and in his Prologue to b. tu. 
(p. 202, 1. 3), he thus describes the night-owl : 

'* Laithely of forme, with crukit camscho beik, 
Ugsome to here was h's wyld elrisohe shriek." 

la Bannatyne's MS. Poems, (fol. l.'.5| in the Advocates' library at Edinburgh,) 



Dryghnes, drymgg, 

Dryng, drink. 

Dryvars. See Drovyers. 

Duble dyse, double (false) dice. 

Dude, dudest, did, didst, 

Dughtie, doughty. 

Dule, duel, dol, dole, sorrow, grief, 

Dwellan, dwelUnd, dwelling, 

Dyan, dyand, dying. 

Dyce, dico, ehequer-worh, 

Dyd, dyde, did. 

Dyght, diht, dreesed, put on, ptU, 

Dyht, to dispose, order. 

Dynte, dint, blow, stroke. 

Dysgysynge, disguising, masking, 

Dystrayne, distress, 

Dyzt SeeDight 



Eame, unde, 
Eard, earth. 

Earn, to curdle, make cheese, 
Eathe, easy. 
Eather, eimer. 
Ech, eche, eiche, elke, each, 
Ee, eie, eye, 
Een, eyes, 
Een, evening, 
Eflfund, pour forth. 
Eftsoon, in a short time. 
Egge, to urge on. 

Eiked, added, enlarged. Eike, eouih, 
£in, even. 
Eir, evir, e'er, ever. 
Eke, also. 
Eldem, elder. 
Elke, each. 

Ellumynynge, embellishing. 
El ridge, unld, hideous^ ghostly ; 
some, inhabited by spectres,* 
Elvish, peevish, fantastical. 



QLOSSABT. 



868 



Erne, hinsman^ unde. 

Endyed, dyed, 

Ene, eyes ; ene, even, 

Enhiarpid, hooked^ or edged with 
mortal dread. 

Enkankered, canltered, 

Enouch, enough. 

Ensue, follow. 

Entendement, understanding. 

Ententifly, to the intent, purposely. 

Envye, malice, ill-unU, injury. 

Er, ere, before ; are. 

Ere, ear. 

Erst, heretofore, 

Etermynable, interminable, un- 
limited. 

Ettled, aivned. 

Evanished, vanished. 

Everiche, every, each, 

Everych-one, everyone. 

Evir alake, ever aUiek! 

Ew-bughts, pens for milch ewes, 

Eyn, eyne, eye, eyes. 

Ezar, aaure. 

F. 

Ffi\ faU. 

Each, feche, fetc\. 

Fader, fatheris, father, father^s. 

Fadge, thick loaf of bread', coarse 

hwip of stuff, A clumsy woman, 
'F&ti,foe. 

Fain, glad, pleased, fond, Faine. 
Faine, fnyne, feign. 
Fair of feir, of a fair and heaWiy 

look; perhaps, free from fear, 
Falds, thou f oldest, 
Fallan, failand, falling, 
Fals, false. Fals, falleth. 
Falser, deceiver, hypocrite. 
Falsing, dealing in falsehood. 
Fang, seize, carry off. 



Fannesj instruments for ujtnnowing 

com. 
Farden, fared, flashed. 
Fare, pass, go, travel. 
Fare, ptice of a passage; shot-. 

reckoning, 
Ffiurley, wonder. 
Fa's, thoufaUest. 
Fanlcone, fawkon, falcon, 
Fauzt, faucht,/oii^^t. 
Faw'n /oZte». 
Fay, f&yeyfaith. 
Fayne. aee Fain. 
Fayne, See Faine. 
Fayre,/ai>. 

Faytors, deceivers, cheats. 
Fe, fee, reward, bribe ; property, 
Feare, fere, feire, mate. 
Feat, nice, neat. 
Featously, neatly, dexterously, 
Feere, fere, mate, companion, 
Feill, fele, many. 
Feir, fere, /ear; also demeanour. 
Feire, mate. See Feare. 
Feiztyng, fighting. 
Felay, felawe, feloy, /cZZoio. 
Fell, hyde. 
Fell, fele, furious. 
Fend, defend. 
Fendys pT9.j,from being the prey qf 

the fiends. 
Fere, fear ; companion, wife, 
Ferliet, toandered, 
Ferly, toonder ; VHmdroutly, 
Fersly, fiercely. 
Fesante, fesaunt, pleasant 
¥et,{ette, fetched, 
Fetteled, prepared, addressed. 
Fey, predestinated to some fatality. 
Fie, beasts, cattle. 
FUde, field, 
Fillan, maxid, filling. 



is a whimsical rhapsody of a deceased old woman trayelling in the other world 
in which 

** Scho wanderit, and zeid by, to an £lrich well." 

In the Glossary to G. Douglas, Elriche, &c. is explained by ** wild, hideous : 
Lat. trux, immanisf* but it seems to imply somewhat more, as ia Allaa 
Ramsay's Glossaries. 



864 



eLOSSABT. 



Finaniioe, fiM, forfeitwe. 

Find frost, find nUaehance, or 

diaagter. 
Firth, frith, a wood; an arm of tJ^e 

ma. 
T^i, foot, feet. 

Fit, jpart or division of a aony.* 
Fitt, fitte, fyt, fytte, idem, 
Tlayne, fi!ayed, 
¥108, fleece. 
Fleyke, large kind of hurdle; a 

hovel of fleyks where eows are 

milked. 
Flinders, t)i0O6«, spHntera, 
Flowan, flowing. 

Flyte, to contend toith words, scold. 
Fond, fonde, contrive ; endeavour, 
¥oiide, found, 
Foo, foes. 
For, an account of. 
Forbode, commandment. 
Force, no force, no matter. 
Forced, regarded, heeded. 
Forefend, prevent^ defend ; a^^ert, 
Forrfoght, over fought. 
Foregoe, quit, give up. 
For-wearied, over-wearied, 
Formore, former. 
Fore, I do not fors, I do not care» 
Forsede, regarded, heeded, 
Forst, heeded, regarded. 
Forst, forced, compelled, 
Forthynketh, repeateth, vexeth, 

troubleih. 
Forthy, therefore, 

Forwacht, ov€T-wai4ihed^ kept awake. 
Fosters of the fe, foresters of the 

kingfs demesnes. 
Fou, tow, full; drunk. 
Fowarde, vawarde, the van, 
Fowkin, cant word f&r fart, 
Fox't, drunk. 
Frae, from. Fro. 

Frae thay begin, from the beginning. 
Freake, freke, freeke, freyke, man, 

human being ; also, whim, ma>ggot. 
Fre-bore, free-bom. 



FieckyB, persont, 

Freers, frytas, friars, monks. 

Freits, tZZ omens, iU luck. Tertm 

Freyke, humowr, freak, caprice, 

Freyned, asked. 

Frie, fre, free,/ree, noble, 

Fruward, fonjoard. 

Forth. /ortA. 

Fuyson, foyson, pUa^ ; tubsianoe, 

Fjen, fierce, 

Fy^km, fickle, 

Fyled, fyiing, defiled, defiling, 

FyU,/eW. 

Fyr,^rc. 

Fyzt,^W. 

G. 
Ga, gais, go, goes. 
Gae, gaes, go, goes, 
Gaed, gade, went, 
Gaberlunzie, gaberlunze, a waUei. 
Gaberlunzie-man, waU&t-manf beff» 

gar. 
Gudlings, gadelyngs, idlers, 
Gfiuiryng, gathering. 
Gae, gave. 
Gair, geer, dress, 
Gair, grass. 

Galliard, a sprightly dame, 
Gan, gane, began, 
Ga,ne, gorM, 
Gang, go. 
Ganyde, gained. 
Gap, enirance to the lists. 
Gar, to make, cause. Gard, gart| 

garred, made; also Ga.rde. 
Gwe, garre, Bee Gar. 
Gargeyld, the spout of a gutter, 
Garlande, ring within which the mark 

toas set to be shot ai. 
Gayed, made gay their clothes. 
Gear, geere, gair, geir, geire. See 

Gair. 
Gederede ys host, gathered his host, 
Geere will sway, this matter wiU 

turn out ; affair will terminate, 
Gef, gere, give, 
Geid, gave. 



* Fms, t. e, " divisions or parts in music," are alluded to in TroUus and 
Oressida, act 3, sc. 1. See Mr. Steevens's note. 



OL06SAB7« 



865 



Qetie, pi&reed, 

Gest, act, feat, ttory, hiBtory. 

Getinge, gettyng, pZtmder, booty, 

Geve, gevend, give, given, 

^h gi«i gieii? fl'^'w, given. 

Gibed, jeered, 

Gie, give. 

Giff, gife, i/. 

Gillore, plenty. 

Gimp, jimp, neat, sZetuIer. 

Gin, an, if. 

Gin, gyn, engine, contrivance. 

Gins, begins, 

Gip, interjection of oontem^ 

Girt, pierced. 

Give. iSee Giff. 

Give owre, gurrerader. 

Glave, glaive, siiK>nI. 

Glede, red-hot coal. 

Glee, joy. 

Glen, Tkzrrou? voZZey. 

Glent, glanced, slipped, 

Glie, glee, joy. 

Glist, glistered. 

Glose, set a /a^ gZoM. 

Glowr, store, qt frown, 

Gloze, canting, dissimulation, 

God before, d'od by thy guide.* 

Groddes, goddess. 

Gkxle, godnees, good, goodness. 

Gone, go. 

Good, a good deal. 

Good-e'ens, good-evenings. 

Gorget, dress of the neck, 

Gorreled-bellyed, pot-6e22M. 

Gowan, the yellow crow-foot, 

Gowd, gonld, gold. 

Graine, scarlet. 

Graithed (gowden), wis eaparisoned 

with gold. 
Grameroye, J thank you. Fr. Qrand 



Grannge, granary ; a lone house. 

Graythed, decked, put on. 

Grea-hondes, greyhounds. 

Grece, step ; flight of steps, 

Gree, gre, prize, victory. 

Greece, /at. Fr. graisse* 

Greened, grew green. 

Greet, toeep. 

Grease, grass. 

Gret, grat, great ; grieved, swdbu 

Greves, groves, buuies, 

Grippel, griping, miserly, 

Groundwa, ground-wall, 

Growende, growynd, grounds 

Grownes, grounds. 

Growte, small-beer, or ale/ 

Grype, griffin. 

Grysely groned, dreadfuUy groaneA 

Gnde, gnid, geud, good. 

Guerdon, reward, 

Gule, red. 

Qjhe, jest, joke. 

Gyle, yuUe, 

Gyn, engine, contrivance, 

Gyrd, girded, lashed ; gyrdyl, girdU 

Gyse, guise, form, fashion. 



Ha, hae, have. 

Ha', halt. 

Habbe, ase he brew, ham a» h$ 

brews. 
Habergeon, lesser coat of mail, 
Hable, a62e. 

Haggis, slieep's stomach sbufed^ 
HaU, hale, whole, together, 
Halched, halsed, saluted, embraced* 
Halesome, wholesome, hedWuy, 
Halt, hoUeth, 
Halyde, haylde, iWsuM. 
Hame, liamward, home, Aomeitardi 

' So in Shakspeare's King Henry V, (act 3, so. viii.) the King says, 

" My army's but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Tet, QOD Befobe, tell him we will come on." 

' Gbowte is a kind of fare much used by Danish sailon, being boiled 
groats (t. e, hulled oats), or else shelled barley, served up vary thjbk, and bnttar 
added to it.— (Mr. Lasabe.) 



866 



OLOMABT. 



Hand-bowe, the long how. 

Haro . . Bwerdes, their wwordt. 

Uaried, hame«l, haryed, harowed, 

robbed^ yiUnged^ plundered, 
Harlocke, charlocke, vfQd rape, 
Harnisine, hamese, armour. 
Hartly lust, hearty demre. 
Harwos, harrowe. 

Hastarddis, raahfeUowe; updarU. 
Hauld, to hold. 
Haass-bane, the neek-bone, 
Hav, have. 

Haves, effeeU, tubetanee, riehe», 
Haviour, behaviour, 
Hawberk, coat of mail. 
Hawkin, dimimUive of Harry. 
Haylle, advantagey profit. 
He, hee, hye, high. 
He, hye, to hye, hatten, 
neaX^haU. 
Hear, heare, here. 
Hear, hear^ hair, hairt. 
Heathenness, heathen part of the 

world. 
Hech, hach, hatch, rnnaO, door ; also 

Hach-borde, eide of a iship. 
Hecht to lay thee law, promiiedf 6?»- 

ga>ged to lay thee low. 
Hed, hede, head. 
Hede, lie would; heed. 
Hee'a, he shall; he has. 
Heere, hear. 
Heicht, height. 
Held, head. 

Heiding-hill, place of exeouiion* 
Heil, hele, h^th. 
Heir, here, hear, 
HeleD, heal. 
Helpeth, help ye, 
13sai.them. 
Heno, kindy gentle, 
Heiine. hence, 

Hent, bente, heldy pulled ; received. 
Heo, they, 
Hepps and Hawes, fruite of the 

onar, and the haufthom. 
Her, hare, their. 
Here, their ; hear, hair, 
Her^eth, hearken ye, 
Herte, hertie heart, heart§» 



HcByhae. 

Best, haat. 

Bests, coTnmandSy injunetiomtn 

Het, hot Hether, hither. 

Hett, hight, bid, call, eonunand^ 

Hench, rock, or steep hilL 

Heyede, hevedst, had, hadsL 

Heveriche, hevenrich, heaveniff, 

Hewkes, herald^ eoaU. 

Hewyne in to, hewn in two. 

Uewyng, hewinge, Ttewing, haeHdng, 

Hey-day guise, froUck ; eporUve. 

Heynd, hend, gentle, dbUgimg, 

Heyre, heir. 

Heyze, high ; heyd, hied. 

Hi, hie, he. 

Hicht, a-hicht, on height 

Hie, hye, he, hee, high. 

High dames to nail, hasten, etc. 

Hight, promised, engaged ; named. 

Bmj%,hiXU. 

Hilt, taken off, flayed. 

Hinch-boys, pages of honour, 

Hinde, bend, gentle, 

Hindd, hind, behind. 

Hings, hangs. 

Hinny, Tumey. 

Hip, hep, berries of the dog-rote. 

Hir, her. Hirsel, herself. 

Hit, it ; Hit he write, it be written. 

Hode, hood, cap. 

Holden, hold. 

Hole, hoU, whoie. 

HoUen, Tiolly, 

Holtes, woods, groves. Holtis hair, 

JuHir hills. 
Holy, whoUy. 
Holy-roode, holy cross. 
Horn, hem, them. 
Hondo, hand. Honden wryngig^ 

hands wring. 
Hondrith, hondred, hundred, 
Honge, hang^ hung. 
Hontyng, hunting. 
Hoo, ho, interjection of stopping, 
Hooly, slowly. 
Hop-halt, limping; haUing, 
Hose, stockings, 
Hount, hunt. 
Honile. give the iocrmneiA 



OLOSSABT. 



867 



Hoved, heaved ; hovered ; tarried* 
Howeres, bowers, hours, 
Huerte, heart, 
Huggle, hug, clasp. 
Hye, hyest, high, highest, 
Hyght, on high, aloud, 
Hygbt, hyzt, promised. 
Hynd attowre, behind, over, aboui. 
Hip halte, lame in the kip. 
Hys, his ; is. 
Hyt, hytt, it. 
Hyznes, highness. 



I-fere, together. 

I-feth, in faith, 

I-lore, lost. 

I-strike, stricken, 

I-trowe, verily. 

I-ween, verily. 

I-wot, verily. 

I-wis, I-wys, verily. 

Ich, I; Ich biqneth, I bequeath, 

I clipped, called, 

l%if. 

lid, / vjould. 

He, I Witt. 

llferdly, ilhfavouredXy, uglily, 

nk, tbis ilk, this same. 

Ilka, ea>ch, every one. 

like, every ilke, every one. 

Ilk one, eaxih one, 

Im, him, 

Impe, a demon. 

In fere, I fere, together. 

Ingle, fire. 

Inogb, enough. 

Into, in. 

Intres, entrance^ admittancei 

lo fortb, halloo I 

' "Germanis Camp, Ezercitum, ant Locum ubi Ezercitns castrametatury 
signiiicat : inde ipsis Vir Castrensis et Militaris kemffer, et kempher, et kemper^ 
et Mniber, et hamper, pro varietate dialectorum, vocatur; Vocabulnm boo 
nostro sermone nondum penitus ezolevit ; Norfolcienses enim plebeio et prole^ 
tario sermone dicnnt ^ He is a kemper old man, i. e. Senez Tegetus est.' Hine 
Cimbris sunm nomen ; * kimber enim homo bellicosns, pngil, robnstus miles, &c. 
significat.' Sberingham de Anglor. gentis orig. pag. 57. Rectins autem Lazint 
(apud eundem, p. 49). Cimbros a bello qnod komiff^ et Sazonice kan^ n«ncik* 
patos crediderim ; nnde bellatores yiri Die Kempffer, Die Kemper" 



Irefnl, angry, furious. 

Is, his. 

lae,IshaU. 

It's ne'er, it shdU never, 

I-tuned, tuned. 

lye, eye. 

J. 

JeLiig\eTB,tea-tdles ; vorangUn, 

Jenkin, diminutive of John, 

Jetted, to go proudly. 

Jimp, slender. 

Jo, su)eetheart, friend, 

Jogelers, jugglers. 

Jow, joli, or jowl. 

Juncates, a sweet-meai. 

Jupe, upper garment ; pettieoaL 

K. 
Kail, 0aZZ. 
Kame, comb. 
Eameling, combing, 
Kan, can. 

Kantle, piece, comer. 
Kskrls, churls ; karlis of kynde, churU 

by nature. 
Kank, chalk. 
Kanld, called. 
Keel, saddle. 
Keepe, care, heed, 
Keipand, keeping. 
Kempe, soldier, warrior. 
Kemperye man, fighting-man.^ 
Kempt, conibed, 
Kems, cornbs. 
Ken, know. Kenst, kend, knowest^ 

knew. 
Kene, keen. 

Kepers, those thai watch the corpse, 
Kever-obeves, handkerchiefs. 



SLC8BAXT. 



Kexis, dried ddHu of\mdook$ 

Kid, kyd, kithed, made hnowm. 

Kilted, tttcked up. 

Kind, nature. Kynde. 

Kirk, church. 

Kirk-wa', ehurch-^ealL 

Kinn, kirn, chum. 

Kirn, idem. 

Kirtle, a pfitieoai, gown,* 

Kist8, chetU, 

Kit, cut. 

Kith (kithe) and kin, aeqittUiUanee 

and kindred. 
Knave, servant. 
Knellan, knelland, hneeUng. 
Knicht, knight 
Knightea fee, aueh a portion of land 

as required the poseeaaor to eerve 

with man and horse. 
Knowles, Utile hiUs. 
Knyled, kneU. 
Kowarde, ootoard. 
Kowe, cow. 
Kuntrey, country. 
Korteis, courteous. 
Kye, kine, cows. 

Kyrtel, kyrtill, kyrteU. Sm Kirtle. 
Kythe, appear, make a/ppear, show. 
Kythed, appeared, declared. 



Lacke, wanL 

Laide nnto her, ifo^puted to her, 

Laitl), loth. 

Laithly, lodthsomOf hideous. 

Lambs-wool, cant ^^urase for ede and 

roasted apples. 
Lane, lain, lone ; her lain, by herself, 
Lang, long ; langsome, tedUme. 
Lap, leaped. 

Largesse, gift, liberality. 
Lasse, less. Latte, Ui^ hinder, 
Lauch, laugh. 
Launde, kmn, 
Layden, laid, | Libbard, leopard. 

* Bale, in his Actes of English Votaries, (2nd Part, fol. 53,) nses the word 
Kyrtle to signify a Monk's Frock. He says, Roger Earl of Shrewsbury, when 
he was dying, sent **• to Clnnyake, in France, for the Kyrtle of holy Hugh, thi 
Abbot therey'^iM. 



Laye, low. 

Lay-land, land noi pUmgMU 
Lay-lands, lands in generai, 
Layne, lien ; laid, 
Layne, lain. See Leane. 
Leal, leel, leil, loyal, honeei, I 
Leane, conceal, hide ; lye f 
Leanyde, leaned. 
Learned, learned, tauahi. 
Lease, lying, falsehood. Wyfhcmtei 
- lease, verily. 

Leasynge, lying, fale^ood. 
Leante, loyalty. 
Lee, lea. Vie field, pasture. 
Lee, lie. 

Leech, leeche, physician. 
Leechinge, do<koring, medical oare, 
Leeke, phrase of contempt. 
Leer, look. 
Leese, lose. 

Leeve London, dear London, 
Leeveth, heUeveth. 
Lefe, leefe, leffe, leeve, dear, 
Lefe, leave: leves, leaves. 
Leid, lyed. 

Leiman, leman, lover, mistress. 
Leir, lere, learn. 
Leive, leave. 
Leman, lemman, leiman, leaman 

See Leiman. 
Lenger, longer. 
Lengeth in, resideth in. 
Lore, face, complexion, 
Lemed, learned. 
Lesynge, lying, falsehood. 
Let, lett, latte, hinder, slac^Bon. 
Lettest, hinderesi, detained. 
Lettyng, hindrance , withotit delay, 
Ijeugh, laughed. lienoh,idem. Lugh 
Lever, rather. 

Leves and bowes, leaves and boughs 
Lewd, ianorant, scandalous. 
LeykO; like, flay. 
Lejrre, lere, tearning, lore. 



aZOSSABT. 



869 



LibbArd's bane, a herb, 

Lichtly, UghUyj easily, nimUy ; also 

to undervalue. 
Lie, lee, field. 

Liege-men, va,as€ils, subjects. 
Lig, Ugge, lie. 
Lightly, easily. 

Lightsome, cheerful, sprightly. 
Limitacioune, certain precinct 

allowed to a Itmitour. 
Limitoii8,/War8 licensed to begmthin 
- certain limits. 

Linde, lime-tree ; trees in general. 
Lingell, hempen thread rubbed ujith 

rosin, for mending shoes. 
Lire, JUsh, complexion, 
Lith, lithe, lythe, attend, listen, 
Lither, idle^ worthless, wicked. 
Liver, deliver. 
Liverance, deliverance (money or 

pledge for delivering you up), 
Lodlye, loathsome. 
Lo'e, loed, love, loved. 
Logeying, lodging, 
Loke, lock of wool. 
Longes, belongs. 
Loo, halloo I 
Looset, losed, loosed, 
]<ope, leaped. 

Lore, lesson, doctrine, learning. 
Lore, lost. 

Lorrel, a sorry, worthless person, 
Losel, idem. 
Ldthly. See Lodlye.* 
Loud and still, at aU times. 
Lougl)t, lowe, lugh, laughed* 
Loun, looi), rascal. 
Lounge, lung. 
Lourd, lour. See Lever. 
Louted, lowtede, bowed. 



Lowe, little hiU, 

Lowns, blazes. 

Lowte, bow, do obeisance, 

Lude, luid, luivt, loved, 

Luef, love. 

Lues, luvo, loves, love, 

Lniks, looks. 

Lurden, lurdeyne, sluggard, drone, 

Lyan, lyand, lying. 

Lyard, grey ; a grey horse, 

Lynde. ^8^66 Linde. 

Lys, lies. 

Lystenyth, listm. 

Lyth, lythe, easy, gentle, pliant, 

Ly ven na more, live no more, 

Lyzt, lizt, light, 

M. 

Maden, made. 

Mahound, Mahowne, Mahomet, 

Mair, more, most. 

Ma it, might. 

Majeste, maist, mayeste, may* si. 

Making, verses ; versifying, 

]\Iakys, maks, moies.^ 

Male, coat of mail, 

Manchet, firie bread. 

Mane, man. 

Mane, moan ; Maining, moaning. 

Mangonel, engine used for discharge 

. ii^f great stones, arrows, etc. 
March-perti, in the parts lying on 

the Marches. 
March-pine, or pane, hind of biscuit 
Margarite, a pearl. 
Mark, a coin, in value ISs. id, 
Marke hym to the Trenite, commit 

himself to God, by making the sign 

of the Cross. 
Marked, fixed their eyes on, 

* The adverbial terminations -some and -ly were applied indifferent f by our 
old writers : thus, as we have lothly for loathsome above ; so we have ugsome 
lu a sense not very remote from tigly in Lord Surrey's Version of jEneid II. viz, 
" In every place the ugsome sightes I saw." Pajje 29. 

' As the words Make and Mate were, in some cases, used promiscnonsly by 
ancient writers ; so the words Cake and Cate seem to have been applied with 
the same indifferency : this will illustrate that common English proverb, ** To 
turn Cat (i. e, Cate) in pan. A Pan-OAKE is in Northamptonshire still called 
ft Pan-cate. 

VOL n. 2 b 



870 



OU088ART. 



Marrow, equaU mate^ hwhatid. 
Mart, marred, hurt, damaged^ 
Mattt, nuuitti, vMy'st. 
Mastorye, maystery, trial of ektU, 
Maugor, maugre, in tpiU of } til- 

wiU. 
Maun, muiif miut, 
Mavia, a tlirtuh. 
Mawt, maU. 
Mayd, mayde, maid. 
Maye, may, idem, 
Mayne, force, strength ; mane. 
Maze, a labyrintti,* 
Me, men ; Me con, men began. 
Mc-tbunch, thuncketh, me-thinke. 
Mean, moderate, middle-aized. 
Moany, retinue, train, company. 
Mease, soften, reduce, mitigate, 
Meaten, mete, measured. 
Meed, meede, reward, mood, 
Meit, meet, fit, proper. 
IMell, honey ; also, meddle, mingle. 
Men of armed, gens d*armes. 
Menivere, species of fur. Meniveere. 
Meuse the raiight, measure the baUle. 
Menzie, meany. See Meaney. 
Merc lies, marches, 
Mossager, messenger. 
Met, mete. See Meit. 
Meyn^. See Meany. 
Micht, miglU. 

Mickle, much, great. Mykel. 
Midge, »mall insect. 
Minged, mentioned. 
Minny, mother. 
Minstral, minstrel. 
Minstreldie, music. 
Mirk, mirkie, dark, black, 
Mirry, meri, merry. 
Miflcreants, unbelievers. 
Misdoubt, suspect, doubt, 
Miskaryed, miscarried, 
Misken, mistake ; let a thing alone. 
Mister, to need. 



Mitber, mother. 

Mo, moe, more. 

Mode, mood. 

Moiening, by means of. 

Mold, mould, ground. 

Mome, a duU, stupid feUaw. 

Mod, man. 

Moiiaiid, moaning, bemoaning, 

Mone, moan. 

Mounyii day, Monday, 

More, mure, moor, heath ; tnld hUL 

Moriie, to-moum ; to-iuarrouf, in tti 

mom. 
Moriiyng, mourning, 
MorrowDyuges, momingg. 
Mort, death of the deer. 
Mosses, swampy grounds. 
Most, must 
Mote, mought, might. 
Mote I tiiee, might 1 thrive. 
Mou, mouth, 

Mought, mot. See Mought . 
Mowe, may ; nwuth. 
Muchi le host, great boast, 
Mude, mood, 
Muir, moor. 
Mulne, mill. 
Mun, mauD, must. 
Mure. See Muir. 

Murne, mumt, muming, mourny eto. 
Muse, amuse ; wonder, 
Musis, Muses. 

MycuU, mekyl. See Mickle. 
Myllau, Milan steel. 
Myne-ye-ple, many plies, or folds. 
Myrry, merry, 

Myst, myzty, might, mighty. 
Mysuryd, misused, applied badly, 

N. 
Na, nae, no, none, 
Naithiug, nothing, 
Nams, names, 
Nane, none. 



* On the top of Catharine-hill, Winchester (the usual play-place of the 
school), was a very perplexed and winding path, running in a very small space 
over a great deal of ground, called a miz-maze. The senior boys oblige the 
juniors to tread it, to prevent the figure from being lost, as I am infoimed hj 
an ingenious correspondent. 



3L088ABT. 



371 



Nappy, strong (ofaUi), 

Nar, naie, nor ; than. 

Nat, not. 

Natheless, neverthele89^ 

xiTe, nee, nigh. 

Near, ner, nere, never. 

Neat, oxen, ca)W8, large cattle. 

Neatherd, keeper of oatth. 

Neatresse, female ditto. 

Neigh him neare, ajpproa^ him 

near, 
Neir, nere, never. 
Neir, nere, near. 
Nere, we were ; were it not for. 
Nest, nyest, next, nearest. 
Newfangle, fond of novelty, 
Nicht, night. 

Nicked hiiu of naye, refwed him. 
Nipt, pinched. 

Noble, a coin, in value 68. 8(2. 
Nobl^, noblesse, nobleness. 
Nollys, noddles, heads, 
Norn, took. Nome, name, 
Non, none. Nane, noon. 
Nonce, purpose. Nonys. For the 

nonce, for the occa^don. 
Norland, northern. 
Norse, Norway. 
North-gales, North Wales. 
Nou, now. 
Nourice, nurse. 
Nout, nocht, nought ; noh 
Nowght, nought. 
Nowls, noddles, heads 
Noye, annoy i 
Nozt, nought, not. 
Nurtured, educaied, hred. 
Nye, ny, nigh. 
Nyzt, night. 

O. 
O gin, O if. 
Obraid, upbraid. 
Ocht, ought. 

Oferlyng, superior^ paramount. 
On, one, an. One, on, 
Onloft, aloft. 
Ony, any, 
Onys, once. 

Onfowghten,nntoughten, vn-fougM. 
Or, ere, before; even. 



Or, eir, before^ e»er. 

OiiBOUB, prayers. 

Ost, aste, oast, host. 

Ou, oure, you, your ; our. 

Out alas ! exclamation of grief. 

Out brayde, drew out^ unsheathed^ 

Out-horn, summoning to arms. 

Out ower, quite over ; over. 

Otttowre, out over. 

Outrake, an outride, or expedition, 

Ouare off none, hour of noon. 

Owches, bosses, buttons of gold, 

Owene, awen, oune, ain, oum. 

Owre, owr, over. 

Owre-word, last word ; burden of a 

song. 
Owt, owte, out. 

P. 

Pa, the river Po. 

Packing, false-dealing. 

Pall, pallia, kind of rich cloth ; robe 

of state. 
Pauner, a pilgrim. 
Pannell, paneie, a rustic saddle. 
Paramour, lover, mistress. 
Pard^ perde, perdie, verily; pat 

Dieu. 
Paregally equal. 
Partake, participate, assign tOk 
Parti, party, a part. 
Pattering, murmuring, mumbling. 
Pauky, shrewd, cunning ; insolent,. 
Paves, pavice^ a large sidetd, 
Pavilliane, tent, pnvilion. 
Pay, liking, satisfaction, 
Paynim, pa^an. 

Pearlins, coarse sort of hone-lacei 
Pece, piece ; sc. of oanrion. 
Peere, peer, pere, equal, peer. 
Peering, peeping, looking narrowly 
Pees, pece, peysse, oeaee. 
Pele, a baker's peeC. 
Penon, lanceA)anner, 
Pentarchye of tenses, five tenses*, 
Perchmine, parchment. 
Parelous, parlous, periloM,. 
Perfiay, verily. 
Perfight, perfect, 
PerilL danger, 

2 B 2 



872 



0L088ABT. 



Perkin. diminutive of Peter, 

Perlese, itterlfss. 

Perait, piarceil, pierced. 

Perte. part. 

Pertytl. jmrifd* 

Petyo» pitif^ 

Peyn, jniin. 

Philoiiieiie, the nigliiingale. 

Pihri'i^ka^ IlHjhltitid waf'tunes. 

Pi«ce, u Uuk^ 

?il'a. ped£d,hald. 

Plaiiiinfj, tomplaimfig. Plaine. 

Play- fur es^ plaif-Jdlow*, 

Pleftaunce, pfeaffljfe. 

PleiQ, pley"i cfrmpktin. 

VMt.phitt^d 

Plftw-muU, loowfefl hammer fixed to 

the plow, 
Plyzt. plight. 

Pollys, powllft, poHa, feead. 

Pompnl, pf>rnjioiM. 

Popinguy, parrot. 

Porctipigi p<jrpt4pijw, 

Portros, portreM. 

Poiifciet, fJrinA. 

Potorner, pocket, potM^. 

Poudred, sprinliled over (heraldic). 

Puw, pou, pow'd, puli^ puUed. 

Powllft, See Pollys. 

Powuefl, poufuk, 

Prf US, prt^Bej |w«l** 

Prece, tdawi. Preced, prosed, 

presied. 
Prcsf, r€a<fi/. 

Preatly^ prcutlye. readily^ qutckly. 
Pricked, spurred on, hcutea. 
Prictea, the tmiWi to shoot at, 
Pmkc-wande^ wiiiid to tkoot <U, 
Priefe, prove. 
Vtiving, promng^ tmting. 
Prove, proof, 
Prawtja, proweta, valour, 
?nu\&, prid& ; proud. 
Prycke, the marff. 
PrymCi daif4>reak. 
Puing, puUinfj^ 

Polde, puUed. 



Purchased, procured, 

Purfel, ornament of embrMderfm 

Porfelied, embroidered. 

Purvayed, protfided, 

Pyght, pight, pitched. 

Q. 

Quadrant, four-square. 
Quail, shrink. 

Quaint, cunning ; fantastieaL 
Quarry, sUiughiered game. 

QlIliL, i^mUrd. 

Qciny, quJiey^ youmj heifer. 

Queun, iorryy base woman. 

Qutil, tiruel, ttturderou$^ 

Quench J a hhw. 

Quell, subdue; kiU, 

Quere, quire, g^V. Qoiilstei^ 
choritfier- 

QutaU inqufwt. 

Qul]iL» w)io, 

Quhftirj where. * 

QuhaD, wbiijij when* 

Quhaneer, wlt&Mver, 

QuliiLP, vjhere, 

Quhat, !«?^ti^ 

Quhatten, wJuU^ 

Qi^hen, tchen. 

Qtiby, }ehy. 

Quiek, aliim^ living. 

Qiiilleta, quihhlea, 

Quitt, requite. 

Quyle, tf^hile. 

Quyrry. See Quarry. 

Qiiyt, qitite. 
[ Quyte, rfiouittd, 
I QuOf quom. 
; Qwykuit) gutckemedj restored to life, 

\ B. 

I Rade, rode. 
\ Roe, ro«. 

Baik, to go apace. Raik on raw, go 
fast in a row, 

Raine, reign. 

Raise, rose, 

Rampire, rampart. 

Ranted, were merry, 

Rashing, the stroke made by the wHd 
boar loiih his fangs. 



GLOSRABT. 



373 



Raught, reached, gained, obtained. 

Rayne, reane, rain. 

Raysse, race. 

Baizt, raught, bereft. 

Reachless, careless. 

Beade, rede, advise : guess. 

Rea'me, reame, realm. 

Reas, raise. 

Reave, bereave. 

Reckt, regarded. 

Rede, retldt , 7-ead. 

Rede, advise, advice ; guess. 

Redresse, care, lahowr. 

Reke, smoke. 

Reeve, bailiff. 

Refe, revo, idem. 

Refe. See Reave. Reft, bereft. 

Register, officer of the public register. 

Reid, rede, reed, red. 

Reid, roan, red-roan. 

Reid. See Kede. 

^eius, deprive of. 

Rekeles, recklesse, regardlesSj rash. 

Remeid, remedy. 

Renisbt, shining f 

Renn, to run. 

Renyed, refused. 

Rescous, rescues. 

Reve. See Reave. 

Revers, robbers, pirates, rovers, 

Rew, rewe, tahs pity ; regret. Rue. 

Rewth, ruth, 

Riall, ryall, royal, 

Richt, right. 

Ride, make an inroad. 

Riddle, to advise f 

Rin, renn, run. 

Rise, shoott bush, shrub. 

Rive, rife, abounding ; split, 

Roche, rock. 

Roke, reek, steam. 

Ranne, ran ; roone, run. 

Roo, roe. 

Rood, roode, cross, crucifix. 

Rood-loft, place in the church where 

the images are set up. 
Roast, roost. 
Roufe, roof. 
Route, go aibout, traveL 
Ronthe, rath, pity. 



Row, rowd, roll, roUed. 

Rowght, rout, strife. 

Rowned, rownyd, whispered. 

Rowyndd, round. 

Rudd, red, ruddy ; complexion. 

Rude, rootl, cross. 

Ruel-bones, coloured rings of bone. 

Rues, ruetlie, pitieth ; regrettetii. 

Rugged, pulled with violence. 

Rushy, co-vered with rushes. 

Ruth, ruthe, pity, woe. 

Ruthful, rueful, woful. 

Ryde. See Ride. 

Rydere, ranger. 

Rynde, rent. 

Ryschys, rushes, 

Rywe, rue. 

Ryzt, rigJU. 

S. 
Sa, sae, so. 
Safer, sapphire. 
Saft, soft 

Saif, safe ; save. Savely, safeiy. 
Saim, same. 
Saisede, seized. 
Sair, sore. 
Sail, sJmU. 
Sap, essay, attempt 
Sar. See Sair. 
Sark, sarke, shirt 
Sat, sete, set. 
Saut, saU. 
Savyde, saved. 
Saw, say, speech, discourse. 
Say, saw. 

Say, essay, attempt 
Say us no harme, say no iU of us. 
Sayne, say. 

Scant, scarce ; scantiness. 
Scath, scathe, hurt, injury, 
Schal, shaU. 
Schapped, swapped f 
Schatred, shattered. 
Schaw, show. 

Schene, sheen, shining ; brightness 
Schip, ship ; Schiples, skipless. 
Soho, sche, she. 
Schone, shone. 
Schoote, shot, let go. 



874 



GL088ABT. 



Schowto, Bchowtte, shout, 

Bchrill, 8hriU. 

Schuke, shook. 

Bclftb, iablefHff}k of slates to UfrUeon. 

fectuniit, dise&mJiL 

Boot, Uijc, revmue ; sJiott reckoning. 

6e, sea. 

Be, Betif^, keying} see, seen^ seeing. 

B(m1, said. 

Seely^ m'Uy^ simpk. 

8tjik^ Bcko^ »eeh, 

Bok, aarA:. 

Rol, mU, self. 

Belven, self. 

Belvor, silver. 

Soly. -^ceSoely. 

Sen, since. 

Bono, seen, 

Beneschall, steward. 

Benvy, mustard-seed. 

Bertayne, sertenlye, certain, oer- 

iainly. 
Sotywall. See Ootywall. 
Beve, *gren. 

Boy a hind of tooaUen stuf. 
Boy yow, say to, tell you. 
Boyd, saw. 
Bhaw, show. 
BhawB, litUe woods, 
Bhavo, heen shaven. 
BUoar. entirely. 
Bliodd, sheddo, to spill. 
Bhoe's, sJie shall. 
Bhoold-bono, the hlade^bone. 
Bhuolo, she*u, she will. 
SlnH-'iiii, shuni', »himnff. 
Bliooro, shire, a great slice of bread. 

Bheila^ sbf^t^s, nheefs, 

Bhont, sftamed, diagrai^edi abused. 

ffiiflponefl^ slji|x^n8f cow, or sheep 

pens. 
Bhiinmered, glittered. 
Bho, she. 

Bho&nf fiiliocnfj, ithoes. 
BUoke^ thoaliCBt 
61iald, sholtie, should. 
fcShoime. 6Va Slu«m. 
Hhopo, shaped; betook. 



Shorte, shorten, 

Bhote, shot. 

Bhread, cut into tmaUpk 

Sbreevon, Bbriveti, eonfaited her wim 

Bhroward^ a mate shrew. 

Shrift, cofn/etmon. 

Bbrive^, confess ; htar confeeeUm, 

ShTO|?j2:a^ «/jn*?w, thctne, briare. 

Bbuldo, sh^ttdd. 

Bbulieti, xhaU. 

Bhuntel, shunned. 

Sburtyng, reereation^ diversion, 

Shynand, shining. 

Bbyam, shires. 

Bib, kin ; aktnj related. 

Bio, sioh, sioh, such. Sich, eigh. 

Bioh-like, such-like. 

Bide, long. 

Sied, saw. 

Bigh-clout, clout to ttradn mUk 

through. 
gigbftn, ai^bnnd^ sighing. 
gik. Bike, m^A 
Biker, surely, certainly. 
Siller, silver. 
Sindle, seldom. 
Bith, sithe, siTUie* 
Sitteth, sit ye. 

Skftith, ecath, karrr^ mischief. 
Bk^L\k, iriolioiousf iquintingi 
Skinker^ one tJitd s&rtm dHnJ^ 
Skinkled, glittered. 
Skomf t| discomfit. 
Skoit, ^0^ reckoning. 
Blade, a breadth of greenetoard 

heittf^en phw lauds or woods, 
&laifcec!, whetkd; wiped. 
Slat red, aft£, broke into aplivtert, 
Blaw, *few. 

Ble, slee, Blea, sky, ^^» 
B\^au, alone, *iai?». 
Sleip^ slope, sleep, 
Slo, aloe, jjZ«.y. 
SlodOy alit, #piii. 
Slone, A^Jam. 
Blou^heT sUue. 
Binitfiors, amo^Aerjt 
Sna\ Hnaw, ^now. 
Boldam. sold an, sowdan, Sutton. 
Boll, BQUlH Bowl^ sotiL 



OLOSSABT. 



875 



Soud, apresentf a sending, 

Sone, soan, soon, 

Sonn, son, sun. 

Sooth, truth, true, Soothly, truly. 

Sort, company. 

Soth, sothe, south, southe. Se^ Sooth. 

Hoth-Ynglonde, South England, 

Sould, schuld, should. 

Souldan. See Soldain. 

Soulmg, victualling. 

Sowdan. See Soldain. 

Sowden, sowdain, idem, 

Sowne, sound. 

Sowre, soare, sour, sore. 

Sowter, shoemaker. 

Soy, sOk. 

Spak, spack, spaik, spake. 

Spec, idem. 

Sped, speeded, succeeded. 

Speered, sparred, fastened, shvi.* 

Speik, speak. 

Speir, spear. Speer. 

Speir, speer, speere, spore, speare, 

spire, ask, inquire.^ 
Spence, speus, expense. 
Spendyd, grasped. 
Spere, speere, spear. 
Spill, spille, spoil, destroy, harm, 
Spillan, spilland, spilling. 
Spilt, spoiU. 
Spindles and whorles, instrument 

used for spinning in Scotland.* 
Spole, shoulder ; arm-pit. 
Sporeless, spurless, without spurs. 
Sprent, sprente, spurted, sprung out. 
Spurging, froth iliat purges out. 



Spurn, spume, a kick. 

Spyde, spied. 

Spylt, spoiled, destroyed, 

Spyt, spyte, spite. 

Squelsh, a blow, or hang. 

Stabille, establish f 

Stalwart, stalworth, sUnU 

Stalwourthly, stoutly. 

Stane, stean, stone. 

Starke, stiff; entirely. 

Startopes, buskins, or half-boots. 

Stead, stede, pkbce. 

Stean. See Stane. 

Steedye, steady. 

Steid, stede, steed, 

Steir, stir. 

Stel, stele, steil, steeL 

Sterne, stem ; stars. 

Stei-ria, stars. 

Stert, sterte, start, 

Steven, time, voice. 

Still, guiet, silent. 

Stint, stop, stopped. 

Stonders, stonderes, standers-by, 

Stoude, stound, stounde, stownde, 

time, space, hour, moment ; while, 
Stoup of weir, pillar of war. 
Stour, stower, stowre, fight, stir, dis' 

iurhance. 
Stown, stolen. 

Stower, stowre. See Stour. 
Stowre, strong, robust, fierce. 
Sta, strae, straw. 
Streight, straight. 
Strekene, strieken, struck. 
Stret, street. 



* So in an old " Treatyse agaynst Pestilence, &c. 4to, emprynted by Wynkyii 
de Worde :" we are exhorted to " Speee (i.^. shut or bar) the wyndowes ayenst 
the south." fol. 5. 

» So Chaucer, in his Rhyme of Sir Thopas : 

" He soughte north and south, 

And oft he spired with his mouth,** 

I. c. * inquired.' Not spied, as in the Canterbury Tales, vol. ii. p. 234. 

• The tiocK, Spindles, and Whorles, are very much used in Scotlaud and 
the northern parts of Northumberland at this time. The thread for shoe- 
makers, and even some linen-webs, and all the twine of which the Tweed 
salmon-nets are made, are spun upon Spindles. They are said to make • 
more evrn and smooth thread than spinning-wheels. 



87G 



0L0S8ABT. 



Strick. ttrM. 

Strife, ftrain^ or meanre. 

Strike, */rir/ff'»». 

Stri»ki-, *trnck, 

Stiitli', MiHid. 

Stuiil, (/f7/o. 

Styntyiir, stintod, stayed, sfopped. 

Styraiido Hta^KC, many i stirring^ 

tra reUiug journey. 
Styrt, 8tart, 
Suar, sure. 
Sum, some. 

Suuum-ro, a sumpter horse. 
Simiptor, horses that carry burdens, 
Suno, soon. 

Suore bi ys chin, surore hy his ehin. 
Siirct aso, cease. 
Sutlie, swith, soon, quichly. 
Sua, 8a, so. 
Swnird, green-sward. 
Swapte, swapped, swopede, struck 

molenily ; exijhanged lilows. 
Swarvde, swarvod, climbed. 
Swab, 8 watte, swotte, did sweat. 
Swear, sware, sweare, swear ; oaih. 
Sweartl, swearde, swerd, sword. 
Sweaven, a dream. 
Sweerc, swire. neck. 
Sweit, swete, sweet. 
Swepyl, the swinging part of a flail. 
Sweven. See Sweaven. 
Swith, quickly, instantly, 
Swyke, sigh. 
Swynkers, labourers. 
Swypping, striking fa^t. 



Swyving, wkoritsg, 

Sych, such. 

Hy^side. 

Syde shear, sydis Bheai, on aU si^ 

Syn, syne, then, afterwards 

Syne, since, 

Syschemell, Ishmael. 

Syth, since, 

Syzt, sigkL 

T. 
Tuiken, token, sign, 
Taine, tayne, takm. 
Take, taken. 

Talents, golden head ornamenUf 
Tane, one. 
Tarbox, liniment box carried 1$ 

shepherds. 
Targe, target, shield. 
Te, to. Te make, to make, 
Tehe! Interjection of laughing. 
Teene, sorrow, grief, wrath. Tene. 
Teenefu', indignant^ voraOifui^ 

furious, 
Teir, tere, tear. 
Tent, heed. 

Termagaunte, the god of Saratens^^ 
Terry, diminutive of Thierry 

Theodoricus, Didericus ; Tereee. 
Tester, a coin. 
Tha, tliem. Thah, though, 
Thair, thfiir. 
Thair, thare, there. 
Thame, them. 
Than, then. 
Thare, iheire, ther, thore, there. 



' The old French Romancers, who had corrupted Termagant into TebvA- 
OANT, couple it with the name of Mahomet as constantly as ours ; thus in the 
old Roman de Blanchardin, 

" Cy guerpison tuit Apolin, 
Et Mahomet et Tervagakt.'* 

Ilencp Fontaine, with great humour, in his Tale, intituled La Fiancee du Hoy 
dti Garbe, says, 

" Et reniant Mahom, Jupin, et Tervagant, 
Avec maint autre Dieu nan mains extravagant. 

M6n. de TAcad. des Inscript. torn. xx. 4to. p. 352. 
As Tei-magint is evidently of Anglo-Saxon derivation and can only bt 
•xplained frcm the elements of that language, its being corrupted by the old 
French Komancers proves that they borrowed some things from onnu 



6L068ABT. 



877 



The, tik«y. The wear, (heff were. 

The, thee, thrive. So mote I thee, 
to 9uiy I thrive. See Ghaaoer, 
* Oanterb. Tales,* i. 308. 

The God, le.The high God. 

Thear, there. 

Thee, to tJirive. Mote he thee, may 
he thrive. 

Thend. the end. 

Ther, their. 

Ther-for, therefore. 

Therto, thereto. 

Thes, these. 

Therves, manners ; limba. 

Theyther-ward, thither-ward, 

Thie, thy. Thowe, thou. Thi sone, 
thy son. 

Thu, they. 

Thilke, this. 

Thir, this, these. 

Thir towmonds, these twelve months. 

Thirtti thousant, thirty thousand. 

Tho, then^ those, the. 

Thocht, thought. 

Thole, tholed. suffer, suffered. 

Thorowe, throw, through, 

Thouse, thou art. 

Thoust, thou shaU, or shouldett. 

Thrall, captive ; captivity. 

Thrang, throng, close. 

Thrawis, throes. 

Thre, thrie, three. 

Threape, to argue, assert positively. 

Threw, throve. 

Thrie. /See Thre. 

Thrif, threven, thrive. 

Thrilled, twirled, turned round, 

Thritte, thirty. 

Thronge, hastened. 

Thropes, villages. 

Thruch, throuch, through. 

Thud, noise of a fall. 

Tibbe, diminutive for Isabel (Scot- 
tish). 

Tide, tiine. 

Tift, puff of wind. 



Tild downe, jwfdM. 

Till, to; when. 

Till, unto, enOee, 

Timkin, dinUnuHve of Timothy. 

Tine, lose, 

Tini, lost. 

Tirl, ftrtrl, tumround. 

Tirl at the pin, unlatch the door^ 

To, too ; two. 

Ton, tone, the one. 

Too-fall, twilight^ 

Tor, totter ; pointed roek on hiU* 

Toun, toune, town, 

Toure, tower. 

Tow, to let down with a rope. 

Tow, towe, two. Twa. 

Towmoond, twelve-month, year. 

Towyn. See Toun. 

Traiterye, treason, treachery. 

Trenchant, cutting. 

Tres hardie, thrice hardy. 

Treytory, traitory. See Traiterye, 

Triohard, treacherous. 

Triothen, trich, deceive, 

Tride, tried. 

Trie, tre, tree. 

Triest f urth, draw forth to an assign* 

cUion, 
Trim, exact. 

Trisulcate, three-forked or pointed. 
Trough, trouth, troth. 
Trow, thinh., believe, trust, conceive ; 

also, verily. 
Trowth, tro6i. 
Txvi.true. 

Trumped, booted, told lies. 
Trumpes, wooden trumpets. 
Tuik, tuke, took. 
Tuke gude keip, kept a close eye 

upon her. 
Tul, tiU, to. 
Turn, an occasion. 
Tumes a crab, at the fire i roasts a 

crab. 
Tosh, interjection of contempt or 

impaUence. 
Twa, ttjDo. 



* ** Tofall of the night," seems to be an image drawn from 4 smpended 
:anopy, so let fall as to cover what is below.— (Mr. Lambe.) 



878 



GL088ABT. 



Twatling, mnaUj piddling, 
Twayne, tiDo. 
rwln'd. parted, separated. 
TwirUe twist, thoroughly twitUd. 

U. 

Uch, each. 

Ugsome, shocking^ horrible. 
Unbethought, for bethought 
Unctuous, /rri, clammy, oily. 
Undermeles, afternoons. 
Undight, undecked J undressed. 
Unkempt, uncombed. 
Unmacklye, misshapen. 
Vnm\ifii,'undisturbed, unconfounded, 
Unseeled, opened ; a termin falconry. 
Unsett Steven, umippointed time, 

unexpectedly. 
Ui)8ousi(>, uulucky, unfortunate. 
Untyll, unto ; against 
Ure, use. 
Uthers, others. 



Vair (Somerset), /otr. 

Valzient, valianL 

Vaporing, hectoring. 

Vuzen (Somerset), faiths. 

Venu, approach^ coming. 

Vices, devices ; screws ; turning pins; 

stoivels ; spindle of a press i 
Vilane, rascxilly. 
Vive (Somerset), ^re. 
Voyded, quitted^ left. 
Vriers (Somerset), friars ; ** Vicars.'* 

W. 
Wa', wall, way. 

Wad, would. Walde, wold, wolde. 
Wadded, of a light blue ooiowf* 
Wae, waet'o*, woe, woful. 
Wae worth, woe betide. 
Wttine, waggon. 
Walker, /ttWer of cloth. 
Wallowitj/flkied, witfiered. 
Walter, roU along ; wallow. 

• Taylor, in his * History of Gavel-kind,' p. 49, says, " Bright, frim thi 
British word Brith, which signifies their wadde-ookur ; this was a light blMb** 
— Minshew's Dictionary. 



Walter, ioeWir. 

Waly, interjection of grief. 

Wame, uformb. Wem. 

Wan, gone ; came ; deficient ; Ua6k^ 

gloomy. 
Wan neir, drew near. 
Wane, one. 
Wanmfe, uneaty. 
War, ware, avjare. 
War ant wys, wary and wise. 
Ward, watch, sentinel. 
Warde, advise, forewarn. 
Warke, work. 

Warld, warldis, world, worlds. 
Waryd, a/xursed. 
Waryson, reward. 
Wassel, drinking, good cheer. 
Wat, wet ; knew. 
Wat, wot, know, am aware. 
Wate, Uamed. 
Wate, weet, weete, wete, witte, wot. 

wote, wotte, know. 
Wax, to grow, become. 
Wayde, waved. 
Wayward, /roward, perverse. 
Weal, waiiL Weale, welfare. 
Weale, weel, well, wele, wetL 
Weare-in, drive in geatty. 
Wearifou*, wearisome^ tiresome. 
Weazon, the throat, 
Wedous, widows. 
Wee, litOe. 

Weede, clothing, drew. 
Weel, ii7e2Z; wewiXl, 
Weene, think. 
Weet, wet, 
Weet. See Wate. 
Weld, weed, wede. See Weede. 
Weil, wepe, weep. 
Weinde, wende, went, weende* 

weened, thought. 
Weird, wizard, mteh. 
Wel-away, interjection of grief. 
Wei of pit^ weU of pity. 
Weldynge, ruling. 
Welkin, the sky. 



OLOSSABT. 



879 



Well-a'way, exclamation of pity. 
Wem, hurt, 

Weme, wombf heUy ; hoUow. 
Wend, wende, wenden, go, 
Wende, thought. 
Wene, ween, think, 
Wer, were, 
Wereth, defendeth. 
Werke, work. 

Wene, weir, warris, war, wars, 
Werryed, worried, 
Wes, vjos, 

Westlin, westlings, western, whist- 
ling. 
Wha, who.- 
Whair, where. 
Whan, when. 
Whang, a large slice. 
Wheder, whither. 
Whelyng, wheeling. 
Whig, sour whey, huttermHk, 
While, until. 
Whilk, which, 
Whit, jot. 
Whittles, knives, 
Whoard, hoard, 
Whorles. See Spindles. 
Whos, whose. 
Whyllys, whilst 
Wi', with. 

Wight, huvrwLn being, man or woman, 
Wight, strong, lusty. 
Wightlye, vigorously. 
Wightye, wighty, strong, active. 
Wield- worm, serpent. 
Wildings, toild apples. 
WilfuUe, wandering, erring. 
Will, shaU, 
Win, get, gain. 
Windar, a kind of hawk. 
Windling, winding, 
Winnae, will not. 
Winsome, agreeable, engaging. 
Wis, wiss, krww. Wist, hnew. 
Wit, weet, know, understand. 
Withouten, withoughteu, without. 
Wo, woo, woe. 
Webster, webster, weaver. 
Wode, wood, wod, wood ; mad. 
Wode-warde, towards the wood. 



Woe, woful, sorrowfuL 

Woe-begone, lost in grief 

Woe-man, a sorrowful man. 

Woe- worth, woe he to thee, 

Wolde, woibld. 

Woll, wool. 

Wan, wont, usage. 

Won*d, wonn*d, dwelt. 

Wonde, wound, winded. 

Wonders, wonderous. 

Wondersly, woiiderly, wondjously. 

Wone, one. 

Wonne, dwell. 

Wood, wode, mad, furious. 

Woodweele, wode wale, the golden 

ouzle, a bird of the thrush-hind. 
Wood-wroth, /wrioMsZy enraged. 
Worshipfully frended, of worshipful 

friends. 
Worthe, worthy. 
Wot, wote, know, think, 
Wouche, mischief, evil, 
"Wow, vow; woe J 
Wraoke, ruin, destruction, 
Wrang, torung. 
Wreake, pursue revengefully. 
Wreke, wreak, revenge. 
Wrench, wretchedness, 
Wright, write. 

Wringe, contended with molenee. 
Writhe, writhed, twisted, 
Wroken, revenged. 
Wronge, wrong. 
Wrouzt, wrought. 
Wull, win. 
Wyght, strong, lusty, 
Wyghtye, ditto. 
Wyld, wild deer, 
Wynde, wende, go, 
Wynne, win, joy, 
Wynnen, win. gain. 
Wyrch wyselyer, wirke, wislie^ 

vjork more wisely, 
Wyaae, direct, govern, take care of, 
Wyste, knew. 
Wyt, wit, weet, know, 
Wyte, blame, 

Y, 
Y,I, Y Binge,! sing. 
Y-beare, heare. 



^80 



OLOSSABT. 



Y-boren, home. 

Y-built, builL 

Y-clepe(i, namedj caUeil. 

Y-cou d, taughty instructed. 

YKX)re, chosen. 

Y-fere, together. 

Y'-founde, found. 

Y-mad, made. 

Y-pickliig, picking, culUng, 

Y-Blaw, sliiin. 

Y-wjiB, verily. 

Y-were. were. 

Y-wiB, verilt/. Y-wys. 

Y-wotme, toon. 

Y-wrought, wrought. 

Y-wys. See Y-wit«. 

Y-zote, molten, melted, 

Yae, each. 

Yalping, yelidng. 

Yaned, yavoned. 

Yate, gate. 

Yave, gave. 

Ych, ycha, yche, ilka. each. 

Ycholde, yef, I should, if. 

Ychon, ychone, each one. 

Ychulle, I shall. 

Ychyseled, cut toith the ehisd. 

Ydle, idU. 

Yebent, y-bent, bent. 

Ye teth. y-feth, in faith. 

Yearded, buried. 

Yede, yode, went, 

Yee, eye. 

Yeldyde, yielded. 

Yenougbe, ynougbe, enough. 

Yerarrchy, hierarchy. 

Yere, yeere, year, years. 

Yerle, yerlle, earl, 

Yerly, early. 

Yese, ye shall. 

Yestreen, yesteT-ei>ening. 

Yf, if. 

Yfere, together. 



Ygnoraunce, ignoramoe. 
Ylke, ilk, same. 
Yll, %a. 

Ylytlie, listen. 

Y'n, in ; housts home. 

Yngglishe, Yngglyslie, EngJuk 

YngloDde, England. 

Yode, went 

Youe, you. 

Ys, is ; his ; in his. 

Ystonge, stu7M. 

Yt, it. 

Yth, in the. 

Z. 

Z, 2^, g, and s. 

Zacringbell (Somerset), mering heUj 

a little belt rung ai the elewUion (^ 

the host. 
Ze, zea, you, ye, thee. Zee're, ye are. 
Zede, yede, went. 
Zee, zeeuo, see, seen. 
Zees, ye shall. 
Zef,yef,t/. 
Zeir, year. 
Zellow, yellow. 
Zeme, take care of. 
Zent, through. 
Zestrene, yester-e^en, 
Zet, yet. 
Zit, yet. 

Zonder, yonder. 
Zong, young. 
Zonne, son. 

Zou, you. Zonr, your. 
Zoud, you would. 
Zour, your. 
Zour-lano, your-lane, alone, by yomr- 

Belf. 
Zouth, yovih. 
Zule, jrule, Christmas. 
Zung, zonge, young. 



*^* The printers have nsually substituted the letter z to express th« 
character ^ which occurs in old MSS : but we are not to suppose that this j^ 
wa.s ever pronounced as our modern z ; it had rather the force of y (and perhaps 
of gh), heingno other than the Saxon letter ^ which both the Scots and Englisli 
have in many instances changed into y, as ^eajit) yard, jeaji year, T5!^^^ 
youn/jf &c. 



( 881 ) 



INDEX. 



Adam Bell, Clym of the Glough, 

and William of Cloudesly, 1. 106. 
Admiral Hosier's Ghost. Olover, 

ii. 74. 
Aged Lover renounceth Love,i. 128. 
Alcanzor and Zayda, i. 242. 
Argentile and Curan. Warner, 

i. 412. 
As ye came from the Holy Land, 

i. 312. 
\.uld Good-man, ii. 184. 

Baffled Benight, or Lady's Policy, 
ii. 51. 

Bailiffs Daughter of Islington, ii. 
194. 

Balet by Earl Rivers, i. 278. 

Ballad of Constant Susannah, i. 
150. 

Ballad of Luther, the Pope, a Car- 
dinal, and a Husbandman, i. 327. 

Barbara Allen's Cruelty, ii. 189. 

Battle of Otterbourne, i. 12. 

Beggar's Daughter of Bednall- 
Green, i. 360. 

Birth of St. George, ii. 258. 

Bonny Earl of Murray, i. 395. 

Boy and the Mantle (Original), 
11105. 

Boy and the Mantle (Percy's Re- 
vision), u. 342. 



Braes of Yarrow. SamtUon^ ii. 7€L 
Brave D^rd Willoughbey, i. 402. 
Bride's Burial, ii. 208. 
Bryan and Pereene. Grainger, i. 
234. 

Ohabaoteb of a Happy Life. WoUon^ 

i. 226. 
Chevy Chase, Ancient Ballad, i. 1. 
Chevy Chace, Modern Ballad, i. 180. 
ChildofElle,i. 75. 
Child Waters, ii. 141. 
Children in the Wood, ii. 225. 
Complaint of Conscience, ii. 1. 
Constant Penelope, ii. 297. 
Constant Susannah, Ballad, i 150, 
Corin's Fate, i. 422. 
Corydon's Doleful Knell, i. 432. 
Corydon's Farewell to Phillie, i. 150. 
Cupid and Oampaspe. LUye^ ii. 161. 
Cupid's Assault. Ixyrd Vaux, i. 279. 
Cupid's Pastime. Davison, i 224. 

Death's final Conquest. Shirley^ 

i. 192. 
Death of King Edward the First, i 

249. 
Distracted Lover, ii. 65. 
Distracted Puritan, U. 59. 
Downfall of Charing Cross, ii. 41* 
DowsAbelL Drayton, I 216. 



883 



INDEX. 



Dra^n of Wantley, ii. 818. 

Dulcina, it 212. 

D>ttie to Hey Downe, iL 133. 

Edom (Adam) o' Gk)rdon, i. 81. 

Edward, Edward, L 41. 

Elegy on Henry, fourth Earl of 
Northumberlaad. Skelton, i. 65. 

Rsaay on the Ancient Metrical 
Romances, ii. 80. 

Eaeay on the Ancient Minstrels of 
England, i. 1. 

Essay on the Metre of Pierce Plow- 
man's Visions, ii. 1. 

Essay on the Origin of the English 
Stage, L 88. 

Ew-bnghts Marion, ii. 158. 

Fair Bridges, Ocueofgne, L 844. 
Fair Margaret and Sweet William, 

u 186. 
Fair Rosamond. Delone, 1. 347. 
Fiiiries' Farewell. Corbet, it 253. 
Fairy Queen, ii. 251. 
Fancy and Desire. Vere, i. 371. 
Farewell to Love. Beaumont and 

Fletcher, L 221. 
Frantic Lady, it 67. 
Friar of Orders Gray, L 176. 
Frolicksome Duke, or the Tinker's 

Good Fortune, i. 178. 

Gabeblttnzib Man, James Y., i. 289. 
Gentle Herdsman, tell to Me, i. 302. 
Gentle River, Gentte River, L 236. 
George Barnwell, ii. 279. 
G<!mutus, the Jew of Venice, i. 151. 
Gil (Child) Morrioe, ii. 166. 
Gilderoy, i. 227. 
Glasgerion, ii. 134. 
Gny and Amarant. Rowlands, ii. 
178. 



Hardtknttte. Bruee, i. 814. 
Harpalus, i. 294. 
Heir of Linne, i. 337. 
Hue and Cry after Cupid. B 
Jonson, ii. 216. 

Janb Shore, i. 423. 

Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind, 

Dryden, ii. 296. 
Jemmy Dawson. Shenstone, ii. 77. 
Jephtliah, Judge of Israel, i. 130. 
Jew's Daughter, i. 26. 
John Anderson my Jo, L 332. 

King and the Miller of Mansfield, 

ii. 231. 
King Arthur's Death, ii. 124. 
King Cophetua and the Beggar 

Maid, i. 135. 
King Edward IV. and the Tanner 

of Tarn worth, i. 305. 
King Estmere, i. 42. 
King John and the Abbot of Caa 

terbury, ii. 30. 
King Leir and his three Daughters 

i. 166. 
Bling of France's Daughter, ii. 218. 
King of Scots and Andrew Browne. 

Elderton, i. 390. 
King Ryence's Challenge, ii. 121, 
Knight and Shepherd's Daughter, 

ii. 154. 

Lady Anne Bothweirs Lament, i. 

384. 
Lady Distracted with Love, it. 

64. 
Lady Isabella's Tragedy, ii. 213. 
I^ady turned Serving-man, ii. 162. 
Lady's Pall, ii. 197. 
Legend of King Arthur, ii. IdOi 
Legend of Sir Guy, ii. 178. 



INDJBX. 



Lilli Bcrlero. Wharton, ii. 68. 
Little John Nobody, i. 333. 
Littlci Musgrave and Lady Barnard, 

ii. 149. 
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet, ii. 

275. 
Lord Thomas and Yair EUinor, ii. 

159. 
Love will find out the Way, ii. 274. 
Lover of late was I, ii. 230. 
Loyalty Confined. V Estrange, ii. 43. 
Lucy and Colin. TickeU, ii. 340. 
Lunatic Lover, ii. 62. 
Luther, the Pope, a Cardinal, and 

a Husbandman, Ballad, i 327. 
Lye, The. BcUeigh, ii. 26. 

Maboabet's Ghost. Mallet, ii. 337. 
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, ii. 112. 
Marriage of Sir Gawaine (Percy's 

Version), ii. 349. 
Mary Ambree, i. 399. 
Murder of the King of Soots, i . 386. 
My Mind to me a Kingdom is, i 208. 

Northumberland betrayed by 

Douglas, i. 200. 
Not-browne Mayd, i. 265. 
Nymph's Reply. BaUigh, i. 160. 

Old and young Courtier, ii. 35. 
Old Robin of Portingale, ii. 371. 
Old Tom of Bedlam, ii. 57. 
Original Ballad by Chaucer, i. 252. 

Passionate Shepherd to his Love, 

Marlow, i. 158. 
Patient Countess. TTamer, i 210. 
Phillida and Oorydon. Bret^m, ii. 

147. 
Plain Truth and Blind Ignorance, 

ii. 17. 



QuBEN Dido, or the Wandering 

Prince of Troy, ii.' 241. 
Queen Eleanor's Confession, L 356. 
Queen Elizabeth's Verses while 

Prisoner at Woodstock, i. 836. 

Richard of Almaigue, i 246. 
Rising in the North, i. 193. 
Robin and Makyne, i. 298. 
Robin Good-fellow, IL 247. 
Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborue, 

i. 56. 
Robyn, Jolly Robyn, i. 132. 

Sale of Rebellious House-hold StufE^ 

ii. 48. 
Shepherd's Address to his Muse. 

Breton, ii. 157. 
Shepherd's Resolution. Wither, ii 

239. 
Sir Aldingar, i. 282. 
Sir Andrew Barton, L 873. 
Sir Cauline, i. 28. 
Sir John Grehme and Barbara 

Allan, ii. 193. 
Sir John Suckling's Campaign, ii. 

38. 
Sir Lancelot du Lake, i. 146. 
Sir Patrick Spence, i. 54. 
Song to the Lute in Musicke, i. 

134. 
Sonnet by Queen Elizabeth, i. 

388. 
Spanish Lady's Love, i. 409. 
Spanish Virgin, or Effects of 

Jealousy, ii. 292. 
St. George and the Dragon, ii. 

266. 
St. George for England, 1st Part, 

ii. S20. 
St. George for England, 2nd Part 

Qrvhb, ii. 324. 



884 



XVDKXa ' 



Stedfast SbopUprd. TTtl^, U. 290. 
Sturdy Rock, i. 359. 
Sweet Neirlort. B, JonwH, ii. 225. 
Sweet William's Ghoet, ii. 191. 

Take those Lips Away, i. 166. 
Take thy Old Cloak about Thee, i. 

139. 
Thomas, Lord Cromwell, i. 292. 
Titus Andronicns'B Complaint, i. 

161. 
To Althea from Prison. 2xwe2a«e, 

ii. 39. 
To Lucasta, on going to the Wars, 

Lovdaae^ ii. 300. 
Tower of Doctrine. Ilatffes, i. 73. 
Tumament of Tottenham, 1. 254. 

Ulysses and the Syren. Danid, i. 

221. 
Un&diDg Beauty. Carew, ii 279. 



Valentine and Ursine, ii. 801. 
Verses by Charles I. ii 45. 
Versos by James I. ii. 28 
Victorious Men of Earth. 8hiHe$, 

i. 405. 
Victory at Agincourt, i 264. 

Walt, waly, Love be Bonny, ii. 202 

Wandering: Jew, ii. 21. 

Wanton Wife of Bath, ii 204. 

Why so Pale ? Suckling, ii. 56. 

Willow Tree, ii. 196. 

Willow, Willow, Willow, i. 142. 

Winifreda, i. 230. 

Wmning of Cales, i 406. 

Witch of Wokey, i 231. 

Witches' Song. B, Jofuon, ii 245 

You Meaner Beauties. WoUon, ii 34^ 

Young Waters, i 396. 

Youth and Age. Shak^pere, i 1721 



THB XNIX 



LOKDOR: PBIMTKD BT WILLIAU CLOWES and sons, LDOTBl^ 
STAMTORD STBEBT AND OHABIMO CBOeS. 



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finglisH CHrowLcU?!* 



10 



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GOETHE'S Fauat. Part L Ger- 
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12 



Ah A^kabetical List of Books 



HBNRY'8 ( Matthew) Sxpoaitlon 
of the Book of the Psalnu. 55. 

HELIODOBUS. Theagenes and 
Ohariolea. — See Greek Ro- 
mances. 

HSBODOTUS. Translated by the 
Rev. Henry Gary, M.A. 35. 6d, 

Notes on. Original and Se- 
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tors. By D. W. Turner, M.A. 
With Coloured Map. 5J. 

Analysis and Summary of 

ByJ. T. Wheeler. 5J. 

HESIOD, CALLIMACHUS, and 
THEOGNIS. Translated by the 
Rev. J. Banks, M.A. 51. 

HOPPMANN'S (B. T. W ) The 
Seraploa Brethren. Translated 
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Ewing. 2 vols. 3^. 6d. each. 

HOLBEIN'S Dance of Death 
and Bible Cuts. Upwards of 150 
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with Introduction and Descrip- 
tions by Francis Douce and Dr. 
Thomas Frognall Dibden. 5J. 

HOMER'S lUad. Translated into 
English Prose by T. A. Buckley, 
B.A. 5 J. 

Odyssey. Hymns, Epigrams, 

and Battle of the Frogs and Mice. 
Translated into English Prose by 
T. A. Buckley, B.A. 55. 

See also Pope. 

HOOFER'S (G.) Waterloo : The 
Downfall of the First Napo- 
leon : a History of the Campaign 
of 1 81 5. By George Hooper. 
With Maps and Plans. 3J. 6d. 

The Campaign of Sedan : 

The Downfall of the Second Em- 
pire, August - September, 1870. 
With General Map and Six Plans 
of Battle. 3J. dd, 

HORACE. A new literal Prose 
translation, byA. Hamilton Bryce, 
LJLD. Jf. U 



HUGO'S (Victor) Dramatic 
Works Hernani-Ruy Bias — 
The King's Diversion. Translated 
by Mrs. Newton Grosland and 
F. L. Slous. 3J 6^. 

Poems, chiefly Lyrical. Trans- 
lated by various Writers, now first 
collected by J. H. L. Williams. 
3^.6^. 

HUMBOLDT'S Cosmos. Trans- 
lated by E. C. Ottd, B. H. Paul, 
and W. S. Dallas, F.L.S. 5 vols. 
3J. 6d. each, excepting Vol. V. ^s. 

Personal Narrative of his 

Travels to the Equinoctial Regions 
of America during the years 1799- 
1804. Translated by T. Ross. 3 
vols. 5j. each. 

Views of Nature. Translated 

by E. C. Ott6 and H. G. Bohn. 

HUMPHREYS' Com Collector's 
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with upwards of 140 Illustrations 
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each. 

HUNGARY: its History and Re- 
volution, together with a copious 
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HUTCHINSON (Colonel). Me- 
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HUNT'S Poetry of Science. By 
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INDIA BEFORE THE SEPOY 
MUTINY. A Pictorial, De- 
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13 



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panions. 
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neville, U.S.A., Wolfert's 
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neous Papers. 
XII.-XV.— Life of George Wash- 
ington. 4 vols. 

Life and Letters. By his 

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ISOCRATES, The Orations of 
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JUSTIN CORNELIUS NEPOS, 
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JUVENAL, PERSIUS. STL- 
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JUNIUS'S Letters. With all the 
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john. $5, 
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Fairy Mythology, illustrative 

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LAMABTINE'S History of the 
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An AlpfuUfetical List of Books 



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PASCAL'S Thoughts. Translated 
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i8 



An Alphabetical List of Books 



PAULrS (Dr. R.) Life of Alfired 
the Great Translated from the 
(lerman. To which is appended 
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OF Orosius. With a literal 
Translation interpaged, Notes, 
and an Anglo-Saxon Grammar 
and Glossary, by B. Thorpe. 5j. 

PAUSANIAS' Deeoription of 
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Shilleto, M.A. 2 vols. 5J. each. 

PEARSON'S Ezposition of the 
Greed. Edited by E. Walford, 
M.A. s^- 

PEPYS* Diary and Correspond- 
enoe. Deciphered by the Rev. 
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Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian 
Library. Edited by Lord Bray- 
brooke. 4 vols. With 31 En- 
gravings. 5^. each. 

PERCY'S Rellques of Ancient 
English Poetry. With an Essay 
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sary. Edited by J. V. Pritchard, 
A.M. 2 vols. 31. 6^/. each. 

PERSIXJS.— 5'd'^f Juvenal. 

PETRARCH'S Sonnets, Tri- 
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various Hands. With a Life of 
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With Portrait and 15 Steel En- 
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PHILO - JUD-2EUS, Works of. 
Translated by Prof. C. D. Yonge, 
M.A. 4 vols. 5^. each. 

PICKERING'S History of the 
Races of Man, and their Geo- 
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Analytical Synopsis of the 
Natural History of Man by 
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World and 12 coloured Plates. 51. 

PINDAR. Translated into Prose 
by Dawson W. Turner. To which 
is added the Metrical Version by 
Abraham Moore, ^s. 



PLANGHE. History of British 
;;^ Costume, from the Earliest Time 
to the Qose of the Eighteenth 
i Century. By J. R. Planch^, 
.- Somerset Herald. With upwards 

of 400 Illustrations. ^. 
PLATO'S Works. Literally trans- 
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I. —The Apology of Socrates, 
Crito, Phsedo, Gorgias, Pro- 
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Euthyi^ron, Lysis. Trans- 
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II. — The Republic, Timseus, and 
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III.— Meno, Euthydemus, The 
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Translated by G. Burges. 
V — The Laws. Translated by 

G. Burges. 
VI.— The Doubtful Works. Trans- 
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Summary and Analysis of 

the Dialogues. With Analytical 
Index. By A. Day, LL.D. 51. 
PLAUTUS'S Comedies. Trans- 
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PIINY. The Letters of Pliny 
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PLOTINXTS, Select Works of. 
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PLUTABOH'8 Liyes. Translated 
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MorUs. Theosophical Essays. 

Translated by C. W. King, M.A. 

Morals. Ethical Essays. 

Translated by the Rev. A. R. 
Shilleto, M.A. Ss, . 

POETRY OF AMERICA. Se- 
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POLITICAL OYOLOP-ffiDIA. 
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POPE'S Poetical Works. Edited, 
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Homer's Iliad. Edited by 

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— The Queen of Sp>ades — An 
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Conquest of Peru. Copyright 

edition, with the notes of John 
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Reign of Ferdinand and 

Isabella. Copyright edition, 
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PROPERTIUS. Translated by 
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PROVERBS, Handbook of. Con- 
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PROVERBS, A Polyglot of 
Foreign. Comprising French, 
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Portuguese, and Danish. With 
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POTTERY AND PORCELAIN, 
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PROUT'S (Father) ReUques. Col- 
lected and arranged by Rev. F. 
Maliony. New issue, with 21 
Etchings by D, Mac.\^s&^ ^.fiv. 



20 



An Alphabetical List of Books 



QUINTILIAN'S InitltatMi of 
Oratory, or Education of an 
Orator. Translated by the Rev. 
J. S. Watson, M.A. 2 vols, 5j 
each. 

RAOINE'S (Jean) DramaUo 
Works. A metrical English ver- 
sion. By R. Bruce Boswell, M.A. 
Oxon. 2 vols. 3J. 6d, each. 

RANEE'S History of the Popes, 
their Church and State, and espe- 
cially of their Conflicts with Pro- 
testantism in the i6th and 17th 
centuries. Translated by E. 
Foster. 3 vols. 31. 6d, each. 

History of Servla and the 

Servian Revolution. Wi\ih an 
Account of the Insurrection in 
Bosnia. Translated by Mrs. Kerr. 

REOREATIONS in SHOOTING. 

By ' Craven.' With 62 Engravings 
on Wood after Harvey, and 9 
Engravings on Steel, chiefly after 
A. Cooper, R.A. 5j. 

RENNIE'S Insect Architecture. 
Revised and enlarged by Rev. 
J. G. Wood, M.A. With 186 
Woodcut Illustrations. 5j. 

REYNOLD'S (Sir J.) Literary 
Works. Edited by H. W. Beechy. 
2 vols. 3J. td, each. 

RIOARDO on the Principles of 
Political Economy and Taxa- 
tion, EditedbyE. C. K. Gonner, 

M.A. 5J. 

RIOHTER (Jean Paul Frledrich). 
Levana, a Treatise on Education: 
together with the Autobiography 
(a Fragment), and a short Pre- 
fatory Memoir. 3^. 6d, 

Flower, Fruit, and Thorn 

Pieces, or the Wedded life, Death, 
and Marriage of Firmian Stanis- 
laus Siebenkaes, Parish Advocate 
in the Parish of Kuhschnapptel. 
Newly translated by Lt. -Col. Alex. 
Ewing. 3J. 6d, 



BOGBB DB HOTEDBN'S An- 
nals of English History, com- 
prising the History of England 
and of other Countries of Europe 
from A.D. 732 to A. D. 1201. 
Translated by H. T. Riley, M.A. 
2 vols. 5j. each. 

ROGER OF WENDOVER'S 
Flowers of History, comprising 
the History of England from the 
Descent of the Saxons to a.d. 
1 23^, formerly ascribed to Matthew 
Pans. Translated by J. A. Giles, 
D.C.L. 2 vols. 5^. each. 

ROME in the NINETEENTH 
CENTURY. Containing a com- 
plete Account of the Ruins of the 
Ancient City, the Remains of the 
Middle Ages, and the Monuments 
of Modem Times. By C. A. Eaton. 
With 34 Steel Engravings. 2 vols. 
5 J. each. 

See Burn and Dybr. 

ROSOOE'S (W.) Life and PonU- 
floate of Leo X. Final edition, 
revised by Thomas Roscoe. 2 
vols. 3j« 6d, each. 

Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, 

called *the Magnificent.' With 
his poems, letters, &c. loth 
Edition, revised, with Memoir of 
Roscoe by his Son. 3^. 6d, 

RUSSIA. History of, from the 
earliest Period, compiled from 
the most authentic sources by 
Walter K. Kelly. With Portraits. 
2 vols. 3 J 6^. each. 

SALLUST, FLORUS, and VEL- 
LEIUS PATEROULUS. 
Translated by J. S.Watson, M.A. 

SCHILLER'S Works. Translated 
by various hands. 7 vols. 31. 6d, 
each : — 

I.— History of the Thirty Years' 
Wai, 



Contained in Bokn*s Libraries. 



21 



ScHiLLSk's Works cimUnutd. 

II,— History of the Revolt in the 
Ketherbndsj the Trials of 
Counts Egmont and Horn, 
the Si^e of Antwerp, and 
the Disturbances id France 
preceding the Reign of 
Henry IV. 

Ill,— Don Gulos, M.ir^ Stuart, 
Maid of Orleans, Bride of 
Messina, together with the 
Use of the Chorui in 
Tragedy (a short Essay), 

These Dr&mas are all 
translated m m^Ue, 

IV*— Kobbers ( with SchiUer's 
uri^oal Preface), Fieico, 
Lqvk and Intrigue, De- 
lAClrius, Ghost Seer, Sport 
of Divinity* 

The Draoia^ iti this 
volume are transkted into 
Prose. 

v.— Poems. 

VI.— Essays,iEstheticaland Philo- 
sophical 

VII.— Wallcnstein's Camp, Pic- 
colomini and Death of 
Wallenstein, William Tell. 

SCHILLER and GOETHE. 
Oorrespondenoe between, from 
A.D. 1794- 1805. Translated by 
L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols. 3J. 6d. 
each. 

SGHLEGEL'S (F.) Lectures on 
the Philosophy of Life and the 
Philosophy of Language. Trans- 
lated by the Rev. A. J. W. Mor- 
rison, M.A. 31. 6d. 

Lectures on the History of 

Literature, Ancient and Modern. 
Translated from the German. 3^.6^1. 

Lectures on the Philosophy 

of History. Translated by J. B. 
Robertson. 3/. 6^. 



SOHLSGHIL'S Leotures on 
Modern History, tcfgeiher with 
the Lectures entitled Ctesar and 
Alexanderi and The Beginning of 
our History. Translated by L, 
Purcell and R. IL Whitetock. 
3x. &/. 

bathetic and MiaoeUanoous 

Works. Translated by E. J. 
Miliington, 3A Sd, 

SOHLBGEL (A. W, ) Looture* 
on Dramatlo Art audLltarature. 
Translated by J* filack. Revised 
Edition, by the Rev. A, J. W. 
Morrison^ M.A. 3j?. 6d. 

SCHOPENHAUER on the Four- 
fold Hoot of the Principle of 
SuflScient Eeason, and On the 
Wm M Nature. Translatetl by 
Madame Hillebrand. 5J. 

Uasays. Selected and Trans- 
lated. With a Biographical Intro- 
duction and Sketch of his Philo- 
sophy, by E. Belfort Bax. p. 

SCHOUW'S Earth, Plant*, and 
Man. Translated by A. Ilenfrey. 
With coloured Map of the Geo- 
graphy of Plants. 5J. 

SCHUMANN (Robert). His Life 
and Works, by August Reissmann. 
Translated by A. L. Alger. 3^. 6d. 

Early Letters. Originally pub- 

blished by his Wife. Translated 
by May Herbert. With a Preface 
by Sir George Grove, D.C.L. 
Zs.ed. 

SENECA on Benefits. Newly 
translated by A. Stewart, M.A. 
y,6d, 

Minor Essays and On Clem- 
ency. Translated by A. Stewart, 
M.A. 5J. 

SHAKESPEARE'S Dramatic 
Art. The History and Character 
of Shakespeare's Plays. By Dr. 
Plermann Ulrici. Translated by 
L. Dora Schmitz. 2 vols« '^ . ^« 



22 



An Atpkabeticat List of Books 



8HAKESPSARE (William). A 
Literary Biography by Karl Elte, 
Ph.D., LL.D. Translated by 
L. Dora Schmits. 5j. 

8HARPE (S.) The History of 

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Chess Openings.. By I. Gunpbebo. 
Draughts and Backgammon. 

Bj^*BSBKXlEY.' 

Mevend and Go Bang. 
Bjr 'Berkeley/ 



Dominoes and Solitaire. 

By * BSRKELST.' 

B6zique and Cribbage. 

By * Bekkrlbt.' 

£cart6 and Euchre. 

By * Berkeley.* 
Piquet and Rubicon Piquet. 

By ' Bbrkelet.' 
Skat. By Louis Diehl. 

*»* A Skat Scoring-book. Is. 
Round Gkunes, including Poker, 

Napoleon, Loo, Vingt-et-un, &o. By 

Baxter* Wrat.